


I'm not barging in!

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Banter, Cormoran has very strong arms, F/M, Fluff, Nick does some nudging, Picnics, Pining, Post Divorce, Relationship Developing, Robin brightens Cormoran's day, Robin is a bit accident prone, Robin revisits a barge, bunk beds!, but Corm is there, canal barge weekend, it isn't all great, lazing in the sun, loveliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-14 11:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: I felt like writing something sweet and fluffy with lots of banter between Strike, Robin, Nick and Ilsa.I know it's all been done many times, but hey ho!This is based on how Robin changes Strikes whole outlook on life, just by either being with him or not. She lights him up.There will be a lot of lovely friendship stuff going on and I haven't quite worked out the ending yet, so I'll update tags.'M' rating is really for language rather than smut at this stage...and I may keep it that way.P.S - I went slightly mad trying to work out a suitable barge route based around London, so I have been vague about it all - they're on a canal boat somewhere near London....that'll do!





	1. Prepare for departure

**Author's Note:**

> I re read the wonderful LulaIsAKitten fic called 'Do you like it?' and felt that image of a t shirt and sunglasses clad Strike was too delicious, so he's back!

The slightly grey sky reflected Strike’s slightly grey mood as he made his way down the steep and unforgiving stairs to the canalside.  
He could see Nick and Ilsa beside a green barge, waving with a quite uncalled for level of jollity in his opinion.   
He tossed the stub of his cigarette into the undergrowth beside the path and transferred the holdall in his left hand into his right to allow him a better grip on the rickety hand rail.  
“Morning,” he growled as he reached them. 

He wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, but on a Saturday morning he was definitely not an early riser!  
Nick and Ilsa took one look at Strike’s expression and winced.  
“I’m not telling him!” Nick exclaimed, starting to load shopping bags and their personal overnight bags onto the vessel.  
“Tell me what?” Strike asked, flashing narrow eyed glances between the pair.

At that moment an older man, the absolute image of a postcard canal boat owner arrived by the boat, carrying a large, bright orange life vest.  
“This ‘im?” the man asked, jerking his head in the direction of Strike and receiving a tight lipped nod from Ilsa.  
He handed the life jacket to Strike and made a gruff noise as he turned abruptly and somehow managed to move off quickly but without haste.  
Strike wordlessly indicated that he needed further clarification.

Ilsa puffed out her cheeks and met Nick’s arched eyebrow expression as he returned for a third trip to collect bags, wine, beer, a cool box and assorted other stuff.  
“Look, will one of you grow a pair and tell me what the fuck is going on? And what’s this? And why’ve I got it and you two haven’t?” Strike’s already grey mood was rapidly turning thunderous.  
Ilsa repositioned her glasses, as if to draw attention to them before she spoke, “You have to wear one.....only until he’s out of sight and then you can take it off,” she stated, indicating the fluorescent life vest in his hand.  
“Why me?” he queried, regarding the item with disgust.  
Ilsa winced and opened her mouth to try to form words, but was saved from her torment by Nick, “You’re officially disabled Oggy and they’ll only let you travel if you wear one. It’s their insurance apparently!” and he gave a calm sniff, hands on his hips, waiting for his friend’s reaction....he was expecting a foul mouthed outburst of vitriol aimed at the white haired sailor.

Cormoran, shook his head and flexed his jaw and eyebrows, as if they were somehow attached and working in tandem, and lifted the offending garment to shoulder height.   
For a moment Nick thought he would launch it into the canal.

“Fucking hell! Have you told him I’m perfectly capable of not falling off a fucking boat? Of all the stupid, fucking, arsehole wanker stupid rules, “ but he was wrestling the ludicrous orange item over his white t shirt, whilst also lighting up a cigarette. “This is fucking discrimination!” he shouted.

Nick had to hastily go back into the cabin, his shoulders shaking slightly; which wasn’t unnoticed by Strike; Ilsa remained and gave him a sympathetic tilt of the head and a reassuring stroke on his arm – which somehow made him feel even worse – although he flung his bag onto the boat and made a point of striding onto the vessel confidently, just in case the “white haired twat” was watching.

Ilsa shouted down to Nick to ask if they were ready and he replied positively, so she untied the rope, bundled it dutifully as they had been shown by said ‘white haired twat’ and called back to where Nick was powering the barge into the flow of water, rather skilfully for a first attempt he thought!

Strike sulked and smoked, standing at the front of the boat with Ilsa who kept casting him furtive glances to see if it was safe to make conversation yet.  
They powered past the lock keeper’s hut and waved (well, two were waves, one was, let’s call it a hand gesture) and continued until they were well past before Strike grumbled, “Can I take this bloody thing off now?”  
Ilsa grinned, “As long as you promise to hold on like a good boy and not throw yourself bodily overboard!” she received a rueful, curled lip fractional smile as he tossed aside a second cigarette butt as well as the orange vest. “To be fair, if you fall in that leg of yours will make you sink like a stone,” Ilsa added.  
Strike pouted and tilted his head, “Well it’s a good job I’m not planning on swimming then!” he joked, his mood improved slightly as he realised he had a two days of company and humour with good friends ahead of him.  
“Come on, show me where to stick this,” he indicated his holdall and noticed a second intake of breath from Ilsa and a dip headed grimace. “What now? I’m not sleeping on the fucking sofa am I?”  
She shook her head and went through into the cabin via the small hatch. 

Strike had to turn sideways and almost double himself up to follow, but the space once down below was better and he could almost stand up.   
Ilsa indicated as she moved along, “Bathroom in there, the loo is separate in there....bit of a squeeze, Nick reckons you might have to do lady wees, this is me and Nick....and this.....is all yours,” she opened a sliding door behind which was a narrow set of bunk beds.   
The only other furniture was a tiny shelf beside the bottom bunk; there wasn’t even a ladder.

Ilsa was expecting a scene; they’d been told the boat could sleep 6, and apparently it could – the other 2 beds were created in the main living space by folding the table down – but Strike’s level of optimism about the weekend had piqued at the life vest, so this was just a further, miniscule ripple to his faltering equilibrium.

“Right!” he sniffed, “Fine.....I fucking hope we’ve got a lot of beer!” he tossed his bag onto the top bunk and tried out the bottom for size.  
Ilsa covered her mouth as he folded himself under and onto the narrow mattress.   
He made an issue of tilting up his head and poking up his Converse clad feet as if to imply that he only just fit.....technically he did, but only because he was stretching out fully.  
He met Ilsa’s amused eyes with a cheeky grin, “Where do I write my 5 star review?” he quipped as he started to grunt and prise himself back upright. 

He’d only agreed to go because it gave him a legitimate excuse to avoid an obvious ‘set up’ by his sister Lucy. She’d invited him to a barbeque on the same date, which he’d initially considered, until it became clear that she was foisting one of her recently single friends called Kerri onto him.   
After hearing about what a great person she was, and that she “wasn’t really a psycho, just lonely,” he’d been relieved when Nick had broached the subject of the canal boat trip.

“You sure it’s OK?” Ilsa asked as they made their way through the kitchen area and out to Nick in the cloudy open air again.  
“Ilsa, it’s fine....I’ve slept in a lot worse, and I’m not paying anything, so.....just don’t make me wear the fucking life jacket or you’ll never budge me. They’ll have to hire it out with me as an added fixture!” and he wrapped one arm around his old friend’s shoulder, planting a soft kiss against her ponytail.

Nick smiled as he recognised his friend’s mood had marginally improved, “We’ll go on for about half an hour and then stop for elevenses,” he suggested, noticing how Strike glanced at his watch.  
“It’ll only be half past nine!” came the brusque reply.  
“Well, if we stop for breakfast the only acceptable drink to accompany that would be a Bucks Fizz…..if we call it elevenses I reckon that makes a beer acceptable!” Nick explained, vaguely demonstrating the simple method of steering and moving the barge as he spoke.  
“Good plan……I won’t tell if you don’t,” Strike replied and lit up another fag, leaning nonchalantly against the back of the cabin where Ilsa had dived through and was busy sorting out food and their bags judging by the various noises from within.

Nick regarded his friend.   
He had his usual gruff, intimidating demeanour, but his eyes looked more tired and flat than usual.  
“You doing alright?” he asked, casually glancing away from Strike as if focussing on steering the boat.   
He knew that the business was doing OK, and in the recent months since Robin had got her divorce finalised, after a lengthy and difficult process – Matthew had always been a twat in his opinion, the way he’d dragged Robin through the mill in the divorce courts had only sought to verify that opinion – he had seen a change in his good friend.   
He seemed softer somehow, more vulnerable; but he flicked a switch somehow whenever Nick broached the subject of him and Robin, meaning they’d never actually discussed Strike’s true feelings.   
And now Robin was off on a ‘Singles Weekend’ with a girl she’d met in a gym class……

Strike regarded Nick cautiously before replying, “I’m fine. Why?”  
Switch flicked. Barriers up.

Nick changed his tack, “Just wondering how the business is going. Robin mentioned to Ilsa that you had got a few payments in from resolved cases, hence giving yourselves the weekend off. Must be going well?”  
Strike’s features softened slightly and the pair started a pleasant conversation about work in general.

“Shame Robin couldn’t join us,” Nick threw in as he angled the barge towards the side in order to moor up. His face twisted slightly in concentration as he tried to angle the boat, slow it down and not hit the vessel in front – it was like the slowest, parking manoeuvre imaginable!

Strike’s gaze became clouded and dark at the mention of Robin.   
He’d been trying not to think of her on her Single’s Weekend.   
He’d thought the barge trip would help clear the images from his mind of male after male chatting her up while she flirted with them.

Since her divorce she’d moved into a tiny flat with exorbitant rent; joined a weekly circuit training gym class; and become completely perfect in his eyes.  
She was driven professionally; meaning that the business was thriving. She’d grown so much in terms of her confidence, despite the somewhat dubious experiences she regularly ‘enjoyed’ through work.   
Nothing had been as bad as the Chiswell thing; and she had dedicatedly continued with her CBT exercises, often asking Strike to use his office during the day – he wasn’t sure if it was out of need or out of the desire to inform him that she was keeping them up – but he didn’t mind.  
It had kept him focussed on his stretching and eating habits – consequently he’d dropped a full waist size in his trousers and had gained a little more muscle tone to his torso by going swimming each week.   
The previous week, as they shared boxed salad lunches she’d even patted his firm stomach and quipped that he was ‘wasting away’, although he had noticed her hand had lingered and flexed slightly against his shirt buttons….and had he imagined the slight flare of her pupils?  
But no…..she was off meeting ‘Singles’……clearly he was a friend and nothing more.  
And that would have to suffice….although he wished she was joining them.

He finally answered Nick’s comment, “Yeah….but at least we’ll only have one slightly squiffy female to keep track of and not let go overboard later!” he grinned, mainly because he heard a characteristic ‘pop’ of a prosecco cork from within the cabin.  
Ilsa had prepared a quick feast of pastries, yoghurt, granola and coffee, but noticed Strike’s pouting mouth and hastily reached a couple of bottles of beer from the cool box to pacify him.  
“I’m only having one for now,” Nick explained, “There’s a tricky bit with a bridge that we have to navigate beforewe get to an easier section. And I reckon a nice leisurely lunch will soak up a few later on!". He grinned as Strike drained most of the contents of his bottle in one long drag.  
“In that case, I’ll make up for you, lightweight!” and he popped the top on a second bottle as he rammed a custard filled pastry into his mouth, making a small sigh of genuine satisfaction.


	2. The sun's come out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what Robin is doing and the canal barge trio become a foursome.

Robin had agreed to the Singles Weekend out of duress.   
She was loving her life post-Matthew; her tiny flat suited her new life perfectly; work was great and she’d started to get herself into shape and met Tara. She was a fellow northerner, originally from Wakefield, a year older than Robin and she’d had a fairly similar history – moved down to London with a guy who turned out to be not what she was hoping for, although in Tara’s case the man in question simply realised he was gay!  
Unlike her and Matthew, Tara and Mike remained friends, and he’d even arranged their booking for the Single’s weekend (his boyfriend owned the company and had given them the places and accommodation for free!)  
She had felt a little odd about the idea when Tara had broached it, but she’d also not given her sex life much of a nudge since Matthew.   
The final straw had been a Cosmopolitan questionnaire which she and Ilsa had jokily completed…..even after lying on a couple of answers she got ‘In danger of healing up and starting to buy from the Damart catalogue!’

She needed to start considering something other than work…and much as she enjoyed spending time with Cormoran, he was just her work colleague and he certainly only saw her in that manner.   
He was always commenting about what a great team they made, and how good she was for the business and what great skills she had……she felt the same….but she had recently been adding little mental extras to the list, like how sexy he looked when he was lighting a cigarette from a partial stub, and how delicious he smelled first thing in the morning before his hair was not fully dry from the shower.

But each time one such thought crossed her mind she shook it off….she was just horny!

So, she’d met Tara and driven the pair of them in the Land Rover to the large hotel on the eastern outskirts of London, and by 10am they were pulling into the car park and giggling as they removed their luggage.  
They walked towards the foyer and spotted Duncan, Mike’s partner who grinned and waved in his excited, camp style – with hindsight, how on earth had Tara not known that Mike was gay?! – and looked around at the other people milling in the hotel reception.  
Duncan kissed them both warmly, “There are some definite hunks!” he explained, although as Tara pointed out, they needed them to be hunks that liked females!

Robin however was staring wide eyed and trying to disappear behind a curtain.  
“What’s up?” Tara asked, noticing Robin’s odd behaviour.  
“That woman, the one in the pink….outfit,” she indicated a blonde, fake tanned female wearing a ludicrously expensive but tasteless outfit of pink leopard print and gold, “She’s one of Matthew’s old work colleagues….and a friend of Sarah fucking Shadlock!”

Tara knew the whole Sarah issue and pursed her mouth into a tight ‘Oooo’.  
“Is this going to be a problem?” she asked, glancing as the female left the foyer and Robin relaxed fractionally.  
“It’s not ideal,” Robin tutted.

At this point a pair of rugby jersey clad men appeared from the bar. Pints in hand, clear marks depicting recently removed wedding rings, pulling in slight paunches….probably called Tarquin and Rufus!  
They clocked Tara and Robin instantly and one made what Robin assumed he thought a seductive glower in their direction…..it actually just looked like he was supressing wind!

“Tara, I’m not ready for this…in fact….I’m not sure I am desperate enough for this…..do you mind if I bail?” Robin winced.  
Tara was glancing around and had noticed a rather tasty looking older guy sat on a stool in the bar.   
She had already noted his decent shoes and watch.  
She smirked at Robin’s face, “Fine….fuck off and I’ll fill you in later. Do you want me to keep tabs on Pinky and let you know what she gets up to?” Tara asked.  
Robin grinned, “I don’t really care what she gets up to….but if you could steer her in the direction of Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee over there it would make my day!”  
With a brief hug she grasped the handle of her case and wheeled it back to the Land Rover.

She slumped in the seat and flicked out her phone…..she sent a message to Ilsa and started the engine, realising that she needed coffee and recalling them passing a Costa just before they turned off the main road.

 

The half an hour drive on the barge had led into a 45 minute break by the canalside for eating and drinking.  
Ilsa had downed a couple of glasses of prosecco, Nick had emptied one bottle of beer and had sipped his way through a couple of Buck’s Fizzes which were more orange juice than ‘fizz’.   
Ilsa felt the buzz from an incoming message on her phone in the pocket of her linen shorts. She looked at the message and stifled her initial excitement….Robin had ditched her fellow singles…..her weekend had suddenly freed up!

Strike announced his intention to see whether a stand up piss was possible and as soon as he’d left the table Ilsa hastily poked her husband and waggled the phone in front of his face.  
“Robin!” she stated “Where can she get on?” Ilsa asked.  
Nick steadied the phone in order to read the message and cricked his head on one side.  
“She doesn’t mention wanting to join us Ils! She might just want to go home…..and where will she sleep?” he asked.  
Ilsa pouted at her husband.  
Nick huffed and inhaled, “That next bridge I was talking about is near a pub with a decent car park. I take it she’s in the Land Rover?” he managed to get out as Ilsa covered his face with soft kisses.  
“Let’s not mention it to Corm,” she hastily whispered and disappeared off to the other end of the barge to tap out a reply to her friend.

“Is she OK?” Strike asked as he returned, shaking his hands free of water, “Oh, and er, sit down only for future reference.”  
Nick snorted, “She’s just stood and realised she’s had 3 glasses of prosecco before 11 o’clock!”  
“Shall I go and untie us?” Strike suggested, and on receiving a nod from Nick, who had received a thumbs up through the cabin from Ilsa, he made his way onto the bank, looking up at the gloomy, overcast sky….it looked like rain.

 

Robin had asked for her coffee to drink in, but having received the slightly typo rich reply from Ilsa hastily asked for it in a take out cup instead.  
She tapped the postcode and vague details of the bridge into Google Maps and looked at the journey time and route. With any luck her coffee would still be warm when she reached them!

 

Ilsa seemed to have gained increased vivacity and energy since they set off….although it was likely to be the effects of the prosecco thought Strike as he busied himself with the few dishes they’d used over their break.  
Hands and sink wiped dry he rejoined Ilsa at the front of the boat where she was busy scanning ahead on the waterway.  
“Are you trying to be Kate Winslet in Titanic?” he asked with humour, although he still wore a scowl.   
Much as it was lovely to be spending time with his two friends, it was sometimes a rather painful punch to his gut when he witnessed their obvious love and devotion to each other….and little things like the way Nick blew her a kiss and she closed her eyes as if feeling it; which had just happened as Nick caught her eyes along the length of the barge….well, when he was feeling a bit melancholy it didn’t help.

Ilsa smiled at the big, gruff man as he reached again for his cigarettes and lit one up.  
“I’m not planning for this trip to have any references to the Titanic!” she stated, “For one thing I think even steerage class was slightly larger than that twin room of yours!” she twinkled.  
She noticed him force a smile on his otherwise glum features.   
The grey, cloudy and slightly humid feel to the weather didn’t help, and they were moving through a particularly built up and sombre part of London.

 

Robin’s heart was feeling slightly jittery in her chest as she pulled up at the car park which Ilsa had correctly stated she would find alongside the pub and bridge.   
It was a slightly odd layout, there was a larger road bridge which she had driven over, and a smaller, cast iron type footbridge beneath the road which crossed the actual canal.  
Robin wasn’t completely sure which direction the boat would come from – she’d slightly lost her bearings in this less familiar part of London. She gathered her stuff from the car and locked it; it seemed a safe enough place to leave it….and the vehicle itself was virtually worthless in monetary terms!  
She managed to wrestle most of her things into her small overnight case so that she had less to deal with as she descended the metal ladder type staircase to reach the canalside.

There were large posters and signs stating that ‘No stopping or unauthorised mooring allowed’ and there was a shifty and aggressive looking man in a hi-vis jacket patrolling up and down a small section of the canal. He crossed over the narrow bridge a couple of times and stared pointedly at her luggage.  
Robin positioned herself centrally and glanced in both directions.   
A couple of barges passed heading in each direction, so she was still clueless as to where they would appear from…and she mentally considered how on earth she would get onto the barge if they weren’t allowed to stop!

The Hi-Vis guy was keeping his eyes trained on her, even when he was patrolling further along one of the banks. The canal wasn’t particularly wide though, and depending on which way they were travelling there was a slightly shallower slope to the bank on one side.  
Anyway, as she waited the clouds suddenly cleared and the muggy humidity lifted, and she found herself rummaging for her sunglasses.   
She glanced down at her attire; a pair of brown linen shorts which finished mid thigh, a khaki slim fitting vest and a floaty cream coloured shirt with rolled up sleeves. She had on a pair of plain white lace up pumps and felt like she wasn’t too over dressed – she’d wanted to look half decent for the Singles thing - she didn’t want to stick out now if Nick and Ilsa were more relaxed. 

She wondered what Strike would be wearing.  
She mostly saw him in shirts, although over the recent warmer weather, and for some of the tailing they’d done he’d been sporting T shirts more and more.  
She liked him in a T shirt.   
The sleeves set off his muscled upper arms – they’d popped out since he started swimming – and his shoulders had seemed to grow wider as his waist had shrunk.  
She shook away the image as she rested against the black railing in the sunshine.

 

The boat was chugging along at it’s ‘I can’t and won’t be rushed’ pace.   
Nick shouted to Ilsa, who was fussing around inside the cabin – she was trying to work out the logistics of where Robin could sleep and stash her stuff without making it too obvious to Strike, although he appeared deep in mournful thoughts as he sat, fake leg propped up on the edge of the barge at the front of the vessel.  
Ilsa thought he looked poetically melancholic, in a rather beautiful and battered way and wondered what provoking and deep thoughts were whirling around in that brain of his.

Strike sucked the increasingly fresh and ‘un-city-like’ air into his lungs and considered how long it was since he last had sex in any way shape or form.   
He pushed out his lower lip on realising that the most recent female contact he’d had was from the trainee who had shampooed his hair when he’d had it cut last week….it hardly counted!  
He wondered whether the small bunk would allow him the vaguest element of privacy to indulge in some self initiated satisfaction……he mulled on the thought that the upper bunk was so close, and he’d abstained for so long it was theoretically possible that he’d hit the mattress…..he was still considering whether this was a challenge he was willing to give himself when the barge turned a corner into a much more open and leafy straight section. 

His lips curled a fraction as the grey clouds seemed to drift away, revealing blue sky below, and he winced as he extracted his sunglasses and put them on.  
Glancing up ahead of him he saw a rather pretty black, cast iron bridge.   
There was someone standing in the middle of it and the sun was glinting off their amber-gold hair creating an almost halo-like effect.  
He had almost adjusted his expression of puzzlement when Ilsa came dashing out and started whooping and waving like a demented woman towards the bridge.

Strike smiled.

Ilsa caught the change to his expression and body language, “What’s cheered you up all of a sudden?” she asked cheekily.  
He rolled his eyes and peered at her over the top of his shades, raising his hands in a bid to cover his instantaneous joy at seeing Robin, “The sun’s come out!” he drawled and busied himself standing up as Nick shouted something to Robin and she shouted back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to join me in a communal 'SQUEEEEEEE'....I feel it is justified.


	3. I've got you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin joins the barge and Nick does a bit of 'nudging'!  
> Strike recalls a key moment in his and Robin's history - one which makes him reconsider his current reticence.

Robin had seen the barge from quite a distance; Strike’s unmistakable figure stretched out at the prow in a white t shirt…..and she almost bit through her lip when she saw him extract a pair of aviator type shades from his jeans pocket and don them.

Nick had shouted that he was going to pull over to the side for her, but she replied and indicated that he wasn’t allowed to stop.  
Nick visibly muttered ‘Fuck!’ and shrugged his shoulders.  
“Let me drop my case down then I’ll run along that side, if you slow down and get close I might be able to jump on then that fella over there won’t fine us,” she pointed and stuck her tongue out at Hi-Vis man who was now on high alert!

Strike couldn’t help but laugh; Robin brightened everything up in his life, and here she was preparing to drop a suitcase off a bridge and jump onto a moving canal boat!

Ilsa shrieked with concern, “Are you sure?”  
Robin shrugged back at her, “What’s the alternative? It’s not exactly challenging Lewis Hamilton in the speed stakes is it?!”

The front of the barge was now nearing the little bridge, Strike steadied his gait and reached up as she leaned over the rail, holding her case by the end of the extended handle.  
It meant that Cormoran’s fingers could reach the item easily and he shouted up a hasty, “Got it!” before she let go, ran across the rest of the bridge and scampered down the bank.  
Hi-Vis man was crossing the bridge in pursuit, clearly determined to enforce some form of penalty; but Robin had had enough time to study the rules and regulations poster in detail.

“As long as you don’t actually stop he can’t do anything!” she shouted across. “Just try and get a bit closer to the side.”  
Ilsa was now squealing as Robin walked along the canal path at a briskish pace.   
The canal side was still fairly steep, and there was a good 2 metres gap between the boat and her, although Nick was edging the nose of the vessel closer.   
Strike was grinning at her exuberant, pink cheeked focus; falling just a little bit more in love with her everytime she dragged her hair from her face and pursed her lips.

The prow of the barge was nearing a large clump of tall rushes, and the bank was quite shallow. Nick had managed to get the boat to within a metre or so of her.  
“Put your hand out?” Strike called, holding onto the side of the cabin with his left hand so that he could reach his right out and almost touch her.

She looked across at him, grinned and squealed as she reached out her hand and leapt across, managing to get her toes onto the side of the barge.   
Cormoran’s strong grip wrapped around her wrist and he hauled her across, bringing his left hand around her waist to steady her as they found themselves rather close, sweaty, grinning and panting on the barge.  
From his position in the rear of the vessel Nick could see the proximity of the pair and also that Robin’s footing was a little perilous on the edge of the barge.   
He muttered the phrase, ‘Forgive me!’ and nudged the barge closer to the side, whilst giving the throttle a slight surge of power.  
As the barge made contact with the bank Robin’s foot slipped and she flailed out, clasping around Strike’s neck and shoulders. His arm around her waist instantly tightened as he felt her slip and he momentarily steadied them both by bracing his left hand against the cabin before wrapping it around her and lifting her down beside him on the actual deck.  
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, huskily, as he loosened his arms, not before stroking his palm firmly against the nape of her back and swallowing at how perfect she felt in his arms.

Robin allowed her arms to trail from his neck, although she may have permitted her fingers to stroke into the soft, slightly damp hair at the back of his neck, and she may have dragged them down his muscular upper arms rather slowly, pretending to steady herself further as she reached his elbows and felt his tight musculature.

In the back of the boat Nick was grinning and feeling rather pleased with himself, especially as Ilsa had mouthed at him what he was getting as a treat later for his quick thinking bit of dodgy driving!

Strike composed himself first and pressed his lips into a soft, pouting smile.  
“What happened to the Single’s weekend?” he asked, scratching his cheek and rearranging his tangle of curls with the other hand.  
Robin flexed her neck and wrinkled up her nose, “Starts with Sarah, ends with Shadlock….do I need to say more?”  
Strike’s eyebrows shot up, “She was there? But isn’t she shagging the ex?” he asked incredulously.  
Robin shook her head and perched herself on the wooden box which contained the anchor housing, “It wasn’t actually her, but it was one of her mates, and some leery Hoo Rah Henry type was letching in the foyer before I’d even checked in….clearly married, you could even see the mark from his wedding ring!”  
Strike snorted slightly, “Amateurs! Didn’t they know a top class private detective was joining in and would spot that a mile off?” 

His tone was buoyant and joyful….it was like a transformation had occurred.

“Why can’t he see it?” Ilsa asked Nick as she brought him a mug of tea and sipped on a further glass of prosecco, a second in her other hand, presumably for Robin.  
“No idea, but he’s like a different person when she’s around,” he replied.

Ilsa took the drink down to Robin and she filled Ilsa in on the awfulness of the approximately 10 minutes of Singles Weekend that she’d endured.  
Strike ambled back to collect a further beer and joined Nick.   
He gave his friend an arched eyebrow stare.

“Was this planned?” he asked and regarded Nick’s response carefully.   
“Honestly? No…..or rather not planned when we set out this morning, she messaged Ilsa when we set off after the little stop off,” he explained, “Take over on this straight bit while I go for a slash.”  
So Strike assumed control of the vessel, one hand resting in a strong, controlled manner on the controls, the other leisurely lifting cold beer to his lips, his gaze drifting down the length of the boat, and then down the length of Robin’s legs where they were now stretched out in the sun, her crossed ankles resting on the prow.  
He dragged himself back to surveying the canal as he realised the boat was drifting slightly off centre.

“Are we stopping off for lunch?” he asked as Nick came back, waving at him to continue control of the boat for a while as he sat and stretched out his legs.  
“Yeah, there’s a pub along near Brentford that is apparently a good one to stop at, lots of mooring spots apparently and there’s a decent beer garden,” Nick explained. “It’s OK that she’s here isn’t it?” he asked, wondering if he’d considered for a moment that it was a bad idea – he hadn’t, but what if he should?

Strike glanced down at Ilsa and Robin, sun glinted off her hair and sunglasses and he stifled a slight growl in his throat as she rippled her shoulders free from her shirt and tied the sleeves around her waist, her breasts looking both beautifully firm and gloriously soft beneath the khaki cotton of her vest.  
“It’s good. She’d have been moping around in London, and this way at least I’m not playing gooseberry on my own!” he grinned. “Which way?”   
The canal forked infront of them and Nick told him to keep to the left and keep lookout for a vacant mooring spot as the pub was just ahead of them.

It was fairly busy – lunchtime on a Saturday in London – and the only available spot was between to already moored up vessels.  
The two men had a moment of shared panic, but quickly shook that away as Ilsa and Robin shouted towards them,   
“Can you manage?”  
“Yeah, we’ll just take it slowly, it’ll fit in,” Nick shouted back, with what he hoped was a degree of masculine authority, although judging by the squeal of laughter from the two ladies their thoughts were clearly on something other than mooring up a barge successfully!

After quite a bit of teamwork and encouragement from the two men working as an effective pair, and a great deal of completely useless shouting and giggling from Robin and Ilsa they managed to get moored up.   
Nick sprang off the boat to tie it up, Strike threw out the rope and grabbed his wallet and fags before shouting down to Robin and Ilsa.  
Robin looked beautifully dishevelled; the linen of her shorts was wrinkled in a way that rendered them even shorter and showed more of her smooth, creamy thighs.

It was a slight step up from the boat to the canalside, Nick hauled Ilsa up and Strike dropped his hand down for Robin who grabbed hold with both hands and shouted, “Heave!”  
“Hardly!” he retorted as she was effortlessly pulled up beside him, “Now if it was the other way round?” he grinned.  
She turned and walked slightly sideways beside him, “Don’t you think I could?!” she asked aghast. “I could so drag you up there. God, remember when we were digging up that horse skull in the dell? I dragged you out of there alright and you’re thinner now….plus I’ve been doing my circuit training!”

He giggled as she skipped along, keeping up with his long strides. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her nose turning pink.  
“I have no doubt you could haul me up the side of a mountain if you put your mind to it, Robin Ellacott….but I still reckon the word heave would be more accurately ascribed to that situation rather than me carrying you! By the way, come here,” he stopped and she copied.   
He closed the space between them and carefully placed his fingers either side of her sunglasses, removing them purposefully and peering intently at her blue-grey eyes.

Robin swallowed, she felt helpless, Christ if he asked her to pick up a pillow right at that moment she’d struggle, let alone pick him up!

“Have you got any sun cream? Your nose is starting to burn,” he said softly, flashing his green eyes between her nose, lips and rapidly darkening gaze.  
She coughed and fumbled in her small, cross-body bag, “Yeah! Good thinking. I’m so ridiculous…..ten minutes in the sun and I’m like a lobster!” she retrieved a small tube of Factor 50 and flicked the cap open.

Strike took it from her hand and squeezed a dab onto his finger before carefully and quite ridiculously tenderly, rubbing the lotion across her pink skin.   
He wiped the excess across the tops of each cheekbone with his thumb before holding out the bottle and stating, “There you go,” and adding “Perfect,” in an almost whispered exhalation as she fumbled to put the sun cream back into her bag.

The “Thanks,” she gave him reminded him exactly of the time he’d fed her a toffee in the Land Rover on the way to Barrow….back before she was married, back when he thought he possibly had a chance the first time….back when he had a sliver of hope.   
He’d played out that scene in his head a million times over; the way he’d caught her lip with his thumb, the way she’d sucked her lips around the toffee, the way she’d said that single word.

Fuck! 

What had changed in him?

Back then he’d looked at the mere thought of them delaying the marriage as a chance, as hope. And now, here she was, single, gorgeous and he was dithering about not wanting to ‘ruin what they had’ whilst secretly wondering how long he could get away with not washing his finger for so that it still had ‘Robin’ on it.

Pathetic fucker!


	4. I am horny scum!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They drink in the pub.  
> Robin gets a splinter.

They caught up with Ilsa and Nick who had bagged one of the wooden tables with benches attached beside the canal.   
Ilsa stated she wanted to have a gin and tonic, and wanted to see which gins were available, so she and Robin went inside to organise drinks leaving the men in charge of poring over the menus.  
Nick regarded Strike as he folded up and placed the cardboard menu onto the table.  
“So? Please don’t tell me you’re just work friends…..I saw the way you just looked at her….sun cream? Really?” Nick asked, flashing an eye roll in Oggy’s direction.  
Strike clamped his lips into a tight line, “Nick, this is the best relationship I’ve had with a woman…..I’m not screwing it up! That’s that!”  
“But you fancy her big time!” Nick stated rather than asked.  
His friend winced and exhaled, “Yeah! I’m human!”  
Nick gave Strike a slightly withering, ‘I despair of you’ look.  
“Look…..I do really like Robin….for God’s sake don’t tell Ilsa I said that…..but I don’t think she’s on the same page as me. She was off on a Single’s Weekend for starters!”  
Nick hastily interjected his friend, “But she didn’t stay….in fact she didn’t even make it past the foyer…she’s here, mate….and so are you….snog, snog, snog…” he added with a flourish of his wrist.  
Strike fixed a pointed , stern glare at him but said nothing……but his friend was right…..

 

The ladies returned carrying their own drinks plus pints for the men and quizzed them on their suggestions for food. There were sharing platters on offer, one with loads of fish and seafood, another with charcuterie and meats and a third with veggie choices, so they opted for one of each to share plus a couple of bowls of chips. This time the chaps went off to order it leaving Ilsa and Robin to continue the conversation they’d started at the bar.

“Well, I was surprised about the whole Single’s Weekend thing….it doesn’t seem very you!” Ilsa remarked.  
Robin clinked her gin and tonic to her friend’s, “And what exactly is being me getting me? Not a lot of action that’s for sure!”  
Ilsa sipped thoughtfully, “What exactly are you after then? Man wise.”  
Robin huffed out her cheeks and thought for a moment.   
It was a topic she’d recently given a lot of consideration to; mainly because Tara had asked her and she’d not been able to define it.

“I don’t know. I’m not actually that desperate for anyone…..I just worry that I’ll stop trying….you know, I’ll stop shaving my legs and start eating family sized bags of Maltesers. I suppose I just want someone who thinks about me a bit, and who makes me laugh, and who’s just there…you know…….and if they happen to be drop dead sexy and able to give stunning oral sex, so be it!”   
Ilsa silently held up her glass for a further clink together and allowed her gaze to land on the sight of Nick and Cormoran meandering back to them armed with cutlery and napkins, loudly discussing the relative merits of their respective football teams this season and whether their managers would ever bring home any silverware.

The food arrived, the drinks were replenished several times and an hour turned into two and a half in the balmy sunshine.

They laughed together; Ilsa and Cormoran ribbed each other about stuff from their Cornish pasts; Nick ribbed Cormoran about stuff from his university past, and they all ribbed Robin about the fact that she’d had a pony and married a complete twat…..Cormoran was pleased that the period of stepping on eggshells about her failed relationship had passed, and if anything his behaviour during the divorce had merely speeded up her ability to get over Matthew and move on.  
“You’re all horrible and ganging up on me!” she’d laughed before slightly losing her balance, sliding down the bench with a wince, and wobbling off to the ladies.

Strike needed more cigarettes and went off to find the machine, quite literally bumping into Robin as she came out of the loos.  
“You OK? We’re not really ganging up on you, you know that, don’t you?” he stated as he fiddled with the machine and yanked out the drawer for his preferred brand of cigarettes.  
Robin grinned as he retrieved them. “I’m fine! Christ if we can’t laugh at it what’s left? And I’m certainly not doing any crying over it! Come on….I suppose we’d better go back to the barge and move on,” and she tugged lightly on his jeans belt in what he assumed she thought was an innocently sweet way, but which stirred quite different feelings within Strike.

When they ambled out to find Nick and Ilsa they were clearing their belongings, “Captain says we should head ’em up and move ‘em out,” Ilsa announced and the foursome pocketed phones, drank the last dregs of pints and melted ice cubes before making their way back to the boat.  
Nick had absorbed most of his beer with food and had been drinking Coke for the past couple of rounds, so he was able to resume control of the barge and after Ilsa untied them was rather adeptly starting to move the boat off into the main canal.  
They had about two hours of journey time until they reached the location of the next mooring spot, this was one which they’d remain at overnight before returning the following day to the same point they’d started at.

Ilsa drank a large glass of water, pronounced herself goosed and flaked out on her bed.  
Strike noticed a brief tension in Robin’s shoulders as she went into the cabin of the barge for the first time.   
He hovered behind her, careful not to press too close to her, but watching intently for any signs of panic.  
She didn’t have a positive history with barge cabins, and he wanted to make sure she was doing OK.

He saw her inhale deeply and flit her eyes around the space.   
Thankfully it was much lighter and open than the barge she’d been lured to as part of the Chiswell case, but it was still eerily similar in terms of the amount of cheap wooden surfaces and the odd acoustics.  
“You alright, Ellacott?” he asked, using a slightly stern manner that was somehow soothing and comforting – there was an element of brusqueness to the comment that made her think about his strength and ability to punch people unconscious when required that instilled instant calm in her.  
She twisted round and flashed him a smile over her shoulder, “I’m OK actually…..thought I might not be……but, yeah….it’s alright.” The additional slight nod combined with the calmness behind her eyes made him believe her.

“Have you got any idea where I’m sleeping and where my stuff is?” she asked.  
Strike puffed out his cheeks and raised his eyebrows, “Well, this is my luxury accommodation!” and he swept aside the flimsy sliding door to reveal his bijoux bunk.  
Robin clasped a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her guffaw and was met with a twinklingly amused and slightly tipsy looking expression from Cormoran.  
“You are joking?” she laughed, “Can you seriously fit?” and she placed her hands either side of his broad shoulders, maintaining the width as she compared it to the size of the bed, dipping slightly under the top bunk.

Strike’s expression of mild elation at the sight of her delicious backside bending over was abruptly stilted when he noticed an angry red welt under her shorts.  
“What’s that on your leg?” he asked, Robin did that whole twisting around and trying to look at the back of your own leg thing and felt beneath the leg of her brown shorts.  
“Oooh, I think it might be a splinter…Ooooh, yeah I can feel a sharp bit,” she hissed, breathing in across her teeth.  
“Well, luckily we have a medical professional onboard. I’ll go and get Nick, you wait there,” Strike ordered.  
Robin twisted around, “You can’t! Nick’s driving….you can’t take over! You’ve drunk too much, and Ilsa’s flat out!”  
He paused and pouted, “But Nick’ll know what to do,” he blushed slightly, not wanting to consider that he might be called upon to investigate the removal of a splinter very close to the most delectable arse he knew existed.

“Nick’s a gastroenterologist…..and it’s just a splinter, Cormoran. Can’t you just pull it out with some tweezers? I’ve got some in my bag.”  
She looked at him with such innocent, beautiful eyes, her shorts leg hitched up slightly.  
To his own bewilderment he found himself nodding and holding out his palm as she rummaged in her small bag and pulled out various assorted items before finally locating the tweezers.  
“That bag’s like the fucking TARDIS!” he exclaimed. “You’d better go out there into the light,” and he pointed towards the main part of the cabin.

Robin rested her elbows on the worktop beside the sink and stuck her bottom out, several gin and tonics plus the balmy, relaxed afternoon made her less self conscious of her movements than she would normally have been…..plus she had a sodding painful splinter!  
From his position at the barge controls Nick jutted his neck, wide-eyed, at the scene unfolding in front of him.   
Strike dragged over and straddled one of the wooden stools and cleared his throat. Nick heard the deep rumbling baritone of his friend, but couldn’t exactly distinguish the actual conversation.  
Robin received a rather commanding and authoritative nudge to her hips from Strike’s knuckles along with a, “Right! Can you….er, lift up your shorts a bit….it’s pretty high up.”  
She absently hoiked up the right leg of her shorts, staring out of the cabin window and considering for a moment what anyone passing by might think was going on, causing her to giggle slightly at the exact moment Cormoran’s fingers swept across her skin.

Strike’s equilibrium; which was already on a knife edge; dissolved and he twitched his neck, muttering, “Sorry.”  
Robin glanced back and down at him, “It’s fine…it wasn’t you….I jut reckon this looks like a scene from Carry on Barging to anyone walking past, that’s all. Ow!” she winced as he rubbed his slightly rough thumb across her skin and located the sharp, sticking out end of the splinter.  
“Nick!” Robin’s shout briefly brought Strike back down from the fluffy cloud he was floating on, brought on by the proximity of his face to so much of Robin’s deliciously soft flesh.  
“What?” Nick shouted down.  
“Advice on removing a splinter?” Strike called up, “We have tweezers and the end is still sticking out. Shall I just yank it?”

Nick’s disdainful huff was evident and Robin and Cormoran exchanged guilty schoolkid looks at each other as he flicked into Doctor Nick mode and shouted down brief, clearly medical based instructions.  
“Clean the wound. Clean your hands. Use alcohol sanitizer on both, and the tweezers. Pull the skin either side taut and grasp the splinter firmly, but pull it gently to avoid it breaking.”

Strike wrinkled his nose up at Robin’s expression, “Shall we pretend we did all that and I’ll just do the last bit?” and nodded back at her general expression of ‘just get on with it!’  
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against her thigh, either side of the wound and firmly but cleanly pulled the rather large splinter from Robin’s skin.  
“You done all that?” Nick’s voice shouted through.  
“Yup! It’s just a piece of wood from the pub bench, I got it all out,” Strike displayed the cm long splinter on his palm for Robin and then leaned back for Nick to see.

“OK, in the cabinet above the sink there is a First Aid box with antiseptic cream in it. Get it and slather it over the wound and about an inch all around. Is it bleeding?”  
Cormoran glanced back and informed Nick that it wasn’t as Robin reached up to the cabinet above her head and located the cream which she passed back wordlessly to Strike.  
She’d let go of the fabric on her shorts in order to find the tube, so Strike had to request her to, “Erm….can you…..lift your shorts up again?”  
She did so, less cautiously this time, knowing that the splinter was gone, she grasped her underwear too, meaning that she gave herself a slight wedgie as she tucked the leg of her shorts up so that Strike could get access.

Having steeled himself he just about managed to not whimper and dutifully pierced the top of the tube of cream, squeezing a toothpaste sized blob onto his fingers, which he carefully and thoroughly, (probably more thoroughly than was absolutely required!) massaged across the wound as Nick had instructed.

He noticed a further mark, slightly higher on the top of her thigh, possibly a second graze.  
“I think you’ve grazed the skin along here,” and he gently ran his finger tip across the soft dip, just below the small curve of her rear end which was now visible to him. Robin bit her lip to stifle the slight sob in her throat – she’d told herself that Strike was just taking a splinter out of her leg, but that bit that he’d just touched…..that wasn’t leg…..that was definite buttock touching!

“Well, just put some more cream on it while you’re there,” she managed, in what felt like a remarkably controlled and calm voice.  
Strike applied a smaller dab of the antiseptic cream along the mark, it was slightly reddened and seemed to curve a little, but the skin didn’t appear to be broken.

As she stared fixedly at the screws holding in the barge window she had an odd sensation of realising what Strike was applying cream to…..the so called graze was in fact just the mark left by her knicker elastic from her ‘slightly nicer than normal’ white, cotton high legs.  
She’d keep that to herself…..she toyed with the idea of asking him to check the other side, but shook the idea from her mind and told herself she was just horny….and slightly tipsy!

“Done! I’m off for a fag!” Strike unceremoniously announced. He passed the small, metal tweezers back to Robin and made his way to Nick at the controls.

Robin located her case in the main living area and dragged out the tatty paperback she was ploughing her way through – it wasn’t very good, but she had to get to the end of it and find out if the woman was as stupid and vapid as she considered her to be! She stretched out and kicked off her canvas lace-ups and pulled her sunglasses from her head onto her nose.

 

Nick gave Strike a purse lipped gaze as he lit up his cigarette and exhaled the first ,deeply drawn drag of smoke.  
“What?” he flashed the same, pointedly fixed glare at Nick as he’d given him at the pub earlier.  
“Nothing! Just wondering why the trained medical professional’s services were not required……or shall I make up my own theory?” Nick grinned.

Strike shook his head, “I actually told her that you should do it…..BUT, as she pointed out, no one else was in any fit state to drive the boat!”  
“Obviously! And we couldn't have stopped, could we?” Nick quipped, and snorted slightly at his friend’s rueful head tilt.  
“I’m not proud of myself……but I got to touch a very attractive woman’s arse!” Strike muttered.

Nick regarded him with a mock incredulous expression, “Bad Doctor Strike!” he sniggered.  
"I was acting in an emergency medical capacity....and I'm rather proud of the fact that I resisted ripping the thing out with my teeth!" Strike inhaled deeply again on his cigarette, flicking away the deep section of grey ash.  
"Hmmmm, not an argument that will stand up if questioned by the General Medical Council!" Nick sniggered.

“Christ, I am horny scum!” Cormoran muttered.

“Hardly! She did actually have a splinter…..she did, didn’t she?” Nick hastily verified.

“Of course she did!......... I’m not that perverted!”


	5. Even forward thinking men in tune with female empowerment want to act like a knight in shining armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter - the title is almost as long as the actual content!  
> Cormoran buys Robin an ice-cream......and gives her a piggy back.

Ilsa woke up after a zonked out hour of sleep and meandered out to locate Robin.  
They briefly discussed the plans for the evening and hit upon a difficulty – there was only one private place to get changed on the boat, so they’d all have to take turns!  
Thankfully the weather was holding and it had turned into a glowing, balmy early evening when they reached the mooring spot, earlier than expected and too early to consider hitting a pub.  
The men were sent out to scout for somewhere decent to eat later on whilst Ilsa and Robin decided to stay at the boat and take further advantage of ‘doing nothing at all in the sunshine.’  
Robin went below into the cabin and in the privacy of Nick and Ilsa’s cabin stripped off her vest and replaced it with the bikini top she’d planned on using in the hotel spa. The evening sunshine wouldn’t burn her as badly as the sun around midday, but she added her cream coloured shirt and knotted it around her waist before clambering up onto the roof of the barge to lie alongside Ilsa on a couple of towels.

 

Nick and Strike located a couple of decent looking options for eating later, both close to the canalside, both with large TVs, one showing replays of football…..they may have had a pint or two before their stomachs made them start back to the barge.   
There was an ice cream van, one of those Ye Olde traditional flavours type one, just within sight of the vessel which seemed like a good option to satisfy their hunger pangs.  
Nick asked for chocolate and a strawberry one for Ilsa, Strike requested Mint Choc chip for both him and Robin.  
The young eastern European guy diligently scooped out the flavours onto cones and Strike fished cash from his wallet.

Nick glanced across towards the barge and grimaced slightly.  
“We’re both modern guys with positive views on female equality aren’t we?” Nick mused, still looking towards their boat.  
“What are you wittering about?” Strike asked, passing the strawberry ice-cream across to his friend.  
“I just……I see that and I want to think, those two are fine, they can handle themselves and I have nothing to worry about, there is no need for me to plough in and 'rescue' them……but every fibre of my being wants to swagger over and piss around her to stake my claim and tell them she’s mine!”   
Strike followed his gaze towards the barge and spotted what Nick was perturbed about. 

Two men with bikes were talking to Ilsa and Robin, one had his foot resting on the side of the barge.

Much as he would like to believe himself to be a forward thinking, modern, female empowering male, at that moment he understood exactly what Nick was saying and simply wanted to go over and….well, get them to leave….if necessary by smashing in their faces, (although not even if strictly necessary….just if they tried something!)

Ice creams finally handed across they walked purposefully down the path.   
The closer they were they could see one of the men quite insistently stepping up onto the barge side to get closer to the two women. Neither looked particularly flustered by the attention, Robin was even smiling.  
“Is Robin flirting with one of them?” Nick asked, glancing across at Strike’s penetrating gaze of the scene.  
“No…..don’t think so. I think she’s playing for time. If I’m right she’ll find a way of drawing us to their attention in a second,” Strike set his mouth firmly, hoping he was correct, and then smirked smugly as she knelt up slightly and gave them a wave. “Told you!” 

The two ‘boys’, upon closer inspection, began to assume more jokey, light hearted demeanours upon the approach of Nick and the massively intimidating figure of Cormoran Strike; albeit even his commanding masculinity seemed slightly thwarted by the fact he was holding a dribbling, pale green ice-cream in each hand.  
“Alright?” he nodded towards the bike duo before turning his attention to Robin who had swung her legs around to sit on the roof of the barge cabin.   
Strike rested one foot on the side of the boat below her dangling bare feet, flashing her a warm smile and holding out one of the two cones.  
“Mint Choc Chip for madam!”   
Robin reached out and took the ice cream with a grin, “My favourite,” she murmured, flicking out the tip of her pink tongue to lick at a drip.  
“I know,” he whispered, and the eyes beneath his aviator shades crinkled at the sides.

Realising they were well and truly not required the two bike guys rode off.   
Ilsa scrambled off the roof and gratefully started to devour her strawberry cone.  
“So come on, knight in shining armour, help me get down!” Robin quipped.   
Cormoran regarded his one empty hand and swiftly turned his back to her, “Jump on!”   
Robin squealed slightly as she wrapped her free arm around Strike’s neck, her ice cream filled hand narrowly missing his sunglasses as she clambered onto his back . The piggy-back lasted until they reached the end of the barge, where Nick and Ilsa were laughing along with them as Strike sneaked a lick from both minty ice-creams before Robin wriggled down.  
“Right, this needs to be a military manoeuvre working on the assumption that only our room is suitable for changing in,” Ilsa explained through ice-cream licks.

 

Several hours later, after a great deal of shouting, apologising, squeezing and laughing the four of them were suitably washed, dressed and perfumed into fresh but still casual clothes and making their way towards the pubs Nick and Strike had located earlier.  
Robin and Ilsa shared a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, the men downed a few pints each before ending on a whisky, both, somewhat predictably, finding the women across from them even more gloriously attractive as the evening wore on.  
The dimmed lighting in the pub was flattering to them all.   
Strike had caught the sun a little more and his usually swarthy looks were even more intense, although the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks almost destroyed his alpha male aura.  
Robin hadn’t bothered with a load of makeup and she looked fresh faced, pretty and relaxed as she sipped her wine.  
She’d swiped a handful of Cormoran’s chips when his steak had arrived, and he hadn’t minded. And she’d loaded all the red onion slices from her salad onto the side of his plate like he knew she would. 

Not for the first time that day Robin considered what Ilsa had asked her earlier – What was she actually looking for in a man?  
Her description had seemed a very close fit to the man sat opposite her who was currently laughing loudly at one of Nick’s anecdotes from their University days that seemed to involve cress seeds, a hose pipe and a hair dryer.

Ilsa noticed the slightly soft, dreamy look to her friend’s expression and couldn’t help but notice that it was trained on their mutual, dark haired friend.  
She and Nick had an almost weekly discussion about the possibility of Corm and Robin getting together.   
They’d considered actively match-making, but had decided that knowing what they did about the pair they’d simply wait….and hope….that they’d come to the conclusion that they had months ago; namely that they were perfect for each other and already in love!


	6. You're bloody staying there now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, after a pub meal and more drinking they all return to the barge to sleep.....nothing more, honest (well, obviously Ilsa has to give Nick his treat, but we are still 'M', so you'll all [by which I mean LulaIsAKitten] have to use your imaginations!  
> Robin has a bit of a wobble, and of course....bunk beds!  
> Oh, and more than a passing reference to Mr B's checked boxer shorts which he nicely flashed in rehearsals for Rosmersholm!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I am envisaging playing softly is by a band called Wandering Hearts and is called If I Fall......sublimely Robin and Strike in my humble opinion.

They split the bill and left the pub at around 11.30pm, giggling and yawning their way towards the barge which was now bathed in blackness.   
Strike used his phone flashlight to ensure that none of them met a soggy end and grasped Robin’s hand firmly to make sure she made it on board without faltering.

“We have to try to get undressed now!” Robin stated, wrinkling her nose at the ridiculousness of there only being one private room on the barge.  
“I can manage,” Strike sniffed – he’d have enough room on his miniscule bed to be able to remove his jeans, and he could take off his shirt and pull on his t shirt in the small space of the cabin. “We can get your bed sorted out while you use the bathroom and then I’ll slide the door and give you some privacy….curtains are closed, door’s locked….that work?” he asked, already utilising the wooden stool in the main cabin so that he could take off his left Converse and sock.

Robin nodded and went through to the tiny bathroom to remove the last traces of her makeup and clean her teeth, ignoring the panting, swearing and laughter from between Nick and Cormoran as they clearly attempted to turn a small kitchen table and bench seat into her ‘double bed’!  
When she came out the sliding door to Strike’s ‘room’ was open and he was rummaging in his holdall on the top bunk, his shirt was hanging loose from his trousers and he’d already unfastened an additional button.  
Robin’s sleeping arrangements however side tracked her nicely from staring too much at the swath of dark chest hair visible at his neck.

“It comes to something when your bunk is starting to look palatial compared to my bed!” she giggled, regarding the snug sleeping space which had been furnished with a blue, polka-dot duvet and pillow giving it an aura of a child’s nursery.  
Strike raised his eyebrows, his humming response reverberated through his chest and the odd acoustics of the cabin, “Hmmm! And for God’s sake don’t fling yourself on it; it is basically the dining table with a sheet over it!”  
Robin lifted the duvet cautiously, “Oh God! My ironing board’s got more padding on it than this! Good job I’m used to sleeping in the Land Rover now!” she flashed him slightly pink cheeked, and very much pink nosed grin as she pulled back the cover and slipped inside.  
“I’m just gonna.......,” and he indicated the small bathroom which he somehow managed to squeeze himself into along with his small toiletries bag.

Robin snuggled down; the bed was actually quite cosy.   
There was a faint background of music playing somewhere, no doubt from one of the other boats also moored up, and due to the lack of traffic and ‘city noise’ which she was now accustomed to it made the music register more in her head.   
She could also hear slight giggling and creaking emanating from Nick and Ilsa’s room behind her on the barge.   
She smiled, but also felt a little flutter of sadness…..she missed the closeness of someone special, someone who could preoccupy her like that, make her forget where she was and ignore the possibility that she could be overheard.

 

Strike took his time in the small bathroom – partly because moving quickly in the confined space was impossible, but partly because he was trying to shake off the image of Robin in her checked, cotton pyjama pants and thin vest top, her face free of make up, her hair slightly messy across her shoulders…..and who would be sleeping on the other side of the flimsiest plywood door to him.  
And he had to squeeze his way past her now and somehow manage to wrestle off his leg and jeans in the confines of a space that would make a coffin seem large and spacious!  
He spat out the toothpaste foam and wiped his hands and mouth on a towel before flicking off the light switch and tugging aside the odd, multi-folding door.

“Right! Night then,” he flicked his eyes across to Robin’s cutely curled up shape and stifled the urge to offer to tuck her in.  
“Night Cormoran,” she whispered, and then giggled as a particularly loud creak and grunt emanated from the Herbert part of the cabin.  
“Bloody hell!” Strike rolled his eyes, but there was a twinkling smile behind them, “If this barge starts rocking I’m abandoning ship!” he good-naturedly grinned.  
Robin laughed along with him, “It’s nice that they have each other,” she stated wistfully.  
Strike nodded and lifted his eyebrows.  
“I’m gonna get ready in here….so if you hear some thumping…and possibly swearing, just ignore it!” and he slid the door to his bunk room across having flicked on his phone to provide a less vivid light than the overhead one in the small room.

Robin suddenly felt quite alone and somewhat exposed in the cabin.   
She settled down under the covers and clasped her pillow tightly, controlling her breathing, but allowing herself to smile as she heard the deep resonant rumble of Strike swearing and clearly banging into part of the cabin wall.  
That was comforting enough to allow Robin to calm, and she breathed normally, the faint music lulling her into slumbers.

Strike managed to wrestle himself out of his shirt and dragged the white T shirt from earlier back on.   
Removing his jeans was slightly trickier, but he managed to get his left leg removed with only one loud thump and utter of ‘Fuck!’ as his knee hit the top bunk bed.  
He hunched uncomfortably on the narrow bed and removed his lower right leg, the foot part kicking the flimsy sliding door, and left his jeans leg still attached as he propped it up against the door.  
He wriggled himself as comfortably as possible under the duvet cover, which was ridiculously wide compared to the bed, and he instantly wrestled it to the side, knowing that he’d be too hot with it over himself.  
He recalled his thoughts prior to Robin’s arrival and ruefully smiled up at the underside of the top bunk above his head,  
“I’ve got every faith in you, but maybe another time!” he whispered to his red and blue, checked cotton boxer shorts.

There was a song playing somewhere nearby, it was a soothing reminder of his own flat where he frequently fell asleep to the sound of a background bass.   
This song however had a vocal aspect to it and as he lay on his back, resting his hands on his t shirted chest he absently realised he was listening to the words:  
‘I won’t spend my whole life, in heartache and pain,  
If I fall, would you catch me again’

He drifted to sleep before the final bars had played out.

______

It was still pitch black when his eyes shot wide open.  
Robin was whimpering, or shouting, he wasn’t sure, but he reached across and hastily slid the door separating them as he spoke, “Robin? Are you OK?”  
He heard her panting reply, “I…..I heard a noise,” and she reached across to flip her phone, illuminating her tousled head and flushed face.

Strike glanced across and realised his leg had fallen over, potentially this could have been the cause of Robin’s abrupt awakening.  
“I think my leg fell over,” he whispered, aware that Robin’s breathing still sounded shallow and stressed.  
“Oh!....Yeah, that might be it….I’m err…….Cormoran?” her breaths were speeding up rather than slowing down, and Strike could hear that she was approaching a panic; and he couldn’t get to her.  
She was just a fraction more than an arms reach away and he was fucking trapped in a too small bunk bed with only one and a half legs.

“You’re not on your own Robin, I’m here!” he stated, trying to make his voice sound normal, not too loud, but authoritative.  
Robin was nervously glancing around the small barge.   
The darkness and her solitude in the cabin was taking her back to the Chiswell case, but suddenly Strike’s deep, comforting voice cut through her turmoil.  
“I’m here, just breathe Robin. You’re OK. It was just a noise.”

He could hear a slight change to her breathing and managed to locate his phone from beside him, he flicked it up adding more light.   
“Look Robin….Robin, I’m here. Can you see me? I’m right here,” he stated and saw her frightened eyes staring back at him from her tumble of covers.  
“I don’t like it out here….not in the dark,” she muttered.

Not for the first time, Cormoran wished he had all of his limbs, wished that he could quickly cross the distance to reach his scared partner.  
“Come here,” he whispered, and outstretched his arm, clasping his phone to illuminate the distance and offer Robin additional reassurance.  
She untucked her legs from her cover and crossed quickly to the tiny bunk room, clasping his hand as soon as she could.  
“Your hand’s freezing cold!” Strike muttered as he smoothed her small palm in his large warm one, rubbing his thumb across her trembling knuckles.  
“I was OK out there, until I woke up….and then everything looked really scary…..I felt like I was back …..you know?” she explained, her breathing was however becoming more normal as Strike continued to rub soothing circles across her hand with his own as she knelt on the hard floor beside his tiny bunk.  
“I get it,” he nodded, “You OK now?” his face was dimly lit still by the light from his phone screen resting on the small shelf beside him, directly infront of Robin, his voice soft.  
She winced and Strike saw her swallow hard, “Not really,” she muttered, and slumped slightly on her knees, glancing out at the small, dark cabin.

“Do you want to swap?” Strike offered, wriggling himself fractionally on the narrow space, although there was really nowhere he could move to; his broad, t shirted torso completely filled the width of the small bunk.  
Robin snorted slightly, “You only just managed to get yourself into this bed, there’s no way you’d get out, get your leg on and fit into that tiny thing out there!”  
Strike curled his lips into a small smile; a little of ‘Robin’ was coming back now, and her face looked less startled and ghostly.

She glanced up above his head, “Can I get in there?” she asked, indicating the top bunk.  
Strike looked up as if noticing the second bunk afresh, “Erm…..yeah……if you want,” he stated; a million reasons why she shouldn’t be that close to him flashed through his mind, but for each one reason a small voice whispered on his shoulder, ‘She needs you, just let her, it will make her happy.’

Robin sniffed and seemed to wipe at her eyes – he hadn’t thought she was crying – and stood up in the tight space, her shoulders level with the base of the bunk.  
“My bag’s up there. Just lob it on the floor out there in the cabin,” he instructed, but Robin simply scooted the bag down to the end of the bunk.  
“It’s alright, I’m smaller than you, it’ll fit down at the bottom. Is there a ladder?” she asked.  
Strike wrinkled his nose and groaned slightly, “No!”  
She looked down, “Shove over a bit then,” and as he breathed in and shifted fractionally onto his side she stood on his mattress in an attempt to boost herself up onto the top bunk. 

There was a creak, followed by a loud thump, the sound of Robin swearing her usual, thickly Yorkshire tinged “Bugger!” and she dropped back to the floor.  
“Careful!” Strike hissed, “You alright? The roof’s really low!”  
“Well I bloody well know that now!” Robin muttered, inhaling sharply and rubbing her head as Strike stifled a snigger at how broad her accent became when she swore. “Oh, I’m glad my pain amuses you!” she quipped, but there was amusement behind her remark.  
“If I could unfold myself I’d offer to help,” he chuckled as she tried again, this time clearly trying a different tack and pulling herself across the narrow bed, leaving her legs flailing in mid air as she tried to wriggle onto the mattress.  
“Can you give me a hand?” she giggled.  
“Where?” Strike asked, looking up at Robin’s flailing legs and……well, her ‘girlie bits’!  
“Just shove my foot, or my knee,” she panted.  
“Who do you think I am, Stretch Bloody Armstrong?” he huffed as he tried to reach up and grasp any relatively ‘safe’ part of Robin’s wriggling anatomy. 

With the help of a firm splayed hand on her knee she managed to finally make it onto the top bunk, where she couldn’t help but collapse, giggling into the thin pillow.  
She heard Cormoran’s bunk creaking beneath her.  
Strike was grinning like a lunatic when her face eventually peered down at him looking dishevelled and frankly like he’d imagined it in some of his more recent fantasies.   
He managed to disguise the whimpering moan he made as a chuckle.

“How the fuck do we manage to solve mind-numbingly complex cases at work and then almost fail at bunk beds?” he commented.  
Robin just continued to giggle down at him. “I quite like it now I’m up here!”  
“Good! ‘Cos you’re bloody staying there now!” his tone changed slightly; Robin noticed his eyes and expression alter, “Seriously, do you feel OK now? Alright to get some sleep?”  
Robin nodded, “Yeah. You sure it’s OK for me to be here?”  
“Absolutely…..you know I find your snoring soothing!” he cheekily quipped.  
“MY snoring?!” she hissed, “You ‘re louder than this bloody barge at top speed!”  
He chuckled, “And bear in mind the only possible way I can sleep on this bunk is on my back! Sweet dreams, Ellacott!”

Robin flopped back against her pillow and realised her cheeks were slightly sore from laughing….and yet less than half an hour earlier she’d been on the verge of a major panic attack.  
She sighed and wriggled over, her toes kicking against his battered, leather holdall at the base of the bed.  
“Cormoran?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Thanks.”  
“What for?”  
[pause] “Just……” In truth, Robin was mentally listing about 100 plus reasons why she should thank the hulk of a man sleeping in the bottom bunk.  
“S’okay,” came the rumbled, gruff reply, making Robin smile way more than that simple phrase should.

Several creaks later Strike heard Robin’s breathing become regular, and a few moments later stifled a growl in his throat as she began to emit a delicate, breathy whimper as she exhaled.  
He felt a slight stirring in his checked cotton boxers and wrinkled his brow. “Definitely….no!.........Stop arguing!” he whispered as he lifted the duvet draped across his hips and willed himself to behave.


	7. They're giggling!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly 'messy' chapter with lots of different points of view and 'versions' or interpretations of what is/might be going on in the barge the following morning.  
> The description of Strike's back in the morning may or may not be based on my own experience and age!

“I’m not barging in!” Nick hissed at Ilsa the following morning.

Desperate for a pee he’d intended to tiptoe past Robin if she was still asleep and return to bed with Ilsa, but having noticed the vacant bed on his way to the loo he'd considered poking his head into Oggy’s sleeping quarters to ask if he knew her whereabouts.  
Instead, his hand hovering on the door handle, he’d frozen and hastily retracted it when he heard the familiar light laughter of Robin followed by a deep, throaty chuckle from his old friend.

Nick’s eyebrows arched up into his hairline and his mouth formed a tight ‘ooooo’ as he wondered whether he should leave them in privacy or go and get Ilsa so they could both listen in and possibly shout ideas and suggestions!

In the end he’d listened for a few more minutes, hearing only muffled, giggling voices and a few creaks from the wooden bunks but not being able to decipher anything clearly, so he’d returned to his slumbering wife.   
After kissing her tenderly several times, and then prodding her harshly in the ribs, she woke up as he returned to innocently showering her with soft kisses.  
“Robin and Oggy are both in the bunk bed room! They are giggling!” he whispered, waggling his eyebrows at Ilsa, hoping for a repeat of his previous evening’s treat…..or at the very least repaying the favour to her!  
However Ilsa batted him off with alarming viciousness and became very awake, very quickly.  
A back and forth discussion had ensued between them, involving Ilsa trying to persuade him to knock, pop his head in and feed back on what he saw, resulting in Nick steadfastly refusing to get involved.

 

Meanwhile, an hour earlier, Robin had woken up feeling somewhat puzzled that her arm was dangling over the side of the mattress and didn’t appear to be touching ‘floor’.   
She wasn’t sure what had woken her, but assumed it was the heat – wherever she was sleeping it was roasting!  
Shuffling around she had stretched up the same arm and found the wooden ceiling not far above her head.   
Images of her efforts to clamber into the top bunk came drifting back to her and she dragged her hand cautiously through her hair as she listed to the rumbling throat clearing of her work partner beneath her.  
She scrabbled across to the edge of the bunk (not difficult given it’s overall size) and peered down at the bed soft, sleeping face of Strike.   
She mentally cursed the fact that she’d automatically let her eyes drift across his body – his t shirt was hitched up showing off a swath of dark hair and his belly button above the crumpled waistband of his red and blue gingham, M&S cotton boxer shorts, his left leg was cemented to the wall, his right hooked at the knee in such a way as to make his stump butt up against his left calf. One arm was splayed across his abdomen, the other bent beneath his head to add further height to the pitiful thinness of the pillows, and his duvet appeared to be a bundle at the bottom of the bed – she made a slight humming noise in the back of her throat looking at him.  
She slithered down as elegantly as she could, realising she needed a pee and was parched.   
She hadn’t seemed to disturb Cormoran, but he shifted slightly in his sleep and without her knowledge opened his eyes in time to see her wrangling the fabric of her pyjama bottoms out of her bum with a delicious wriggle as she slipped from the sliding door soundlessly.

 

About thirty minutes prior to this, Cormoran himself had actually woken up due to several pints pressing on his bladder.  
He’d managed to unfold himself from his bunk and hopped the few steps to use the loo, and upon returning had paused at the sight of Robin’s amber hair splayed out, almost at face height (albeit hunched over face height, which was the only way he could cope in the confines of the cabin!)  
On an impulse he had reached out and gently traced his thumb across her cheek, breathing in deeply at the feeling of her warm, soft, and admittedly slightly glowing skin.  
She looked calm.   
She looked contented and deeply asleep, which given her fears just a few hours earlier made him happy.  
He wrestled himself back into the narrow bunk, cursing slightly as he caught his left knee on the wall again, but lay back for a bit more sleep.  
A soft creak from above him was followed by the appearance of a languid, dangling hand not far from his shoulder. He sniggered slightly and regarded the small, elegant fingers and neatly clipped and filed nails which where twitching slightly, like a puppy having a dream.  
Lifting up fractionally on his elbow he stroked along the twitching index finger until it stilled, and then bent forwards a fraction more, pressing his lips to the tip of it in the gentlest, ‘almost non-existent’ kiss before lying back down and closing his eyes.

 

Flash forwards to now.   
Strike rubbed his splayed hand through his ruffled hair and dragged his t shirt down where it had risen up as the door slid open further emitting 2 mugs, swiftly followed by Robin, still in her pyjamas with her tongue sticking out slightly as she squirmed around the narrow door and slid it closed a little with her foot.  
“Oh! You’re awake! I made tea,” she looked down at the mugs in her hand as if her statement required further clarification.  
Strike yawned and nodded, “So I see. Thanks,” he smiled as he shuffled himself up onto one elbow and accepted the proffered mug.  
Robin wrinkled her nose as Strike took a slurp.   
“Bugger!” she grumbled, realising that she had no way of getting back into her narrow bed whilst holding her tea.

Strike chuckled slightly and placed his mug onto the small shelf, “Give me your mug and I’ll boost you up again, then I can pass it up to you if you like,” he suggested.  
Robin however was scanning the small bottom bunk, “Sod it! Just squidge up a bit,” she stated quite forcefully.  
Strike flashed her an incredulous look, “Squidge where exactly? I’m a 6ft 3 man in a bed suitable for a 5ft 5 one!” but he tried to adjust his legs slightly on top of the crumpled up covers finding himself strangely unflustered by the visibility of his partial limb in front of Robin.  
“Keep your legs still…..I’ll go there,” and she smiled indicating the space below his right knee.  
“Oh! How thoughtful of me to have had part of my leg blown off! Who knew it was to provide you with somewhere to sit and drink tea when we found ourselves in this very situation!” he couldn’t help but smile warmly as she curled her bottom and legs up to nestle facing him at the bottom of his bed, cupping her steaming mug of tea to her chest as she laughed at him.

His smile was completely natural and beaming as he mimicked her tea pose and considered how completely comfortable and just….right this felt.

“You look like a pixie!” he sniggered.  
“A tea drinking pixie!” she clarified, waggling her eyebrows and blowing across her mug.  
He nodded, “Yeah, a tea drinking, pyjama wearing pixie!.....it’s quite niche!”  
Robin started to discuss some of the work they had planned for the forthcoming week and they discussed their schedules using Strike’s phone to clarify a few details.  
“I could get used to this as a start of the week briefing!” Strike stated without thinking as he leaned his head back against the cabin wall, and blushed.  
Robin felt her cheeks flaming too, but saw the funny side, “Maybe not one of your more practical ideas!”

 

This was the giggling scene Nick had inadvertently stumbled across before disappearing back to update his wife!

 

Having drained their tea, Robin shuffled out to wash and find clothes from her bag while Strike rummaged around in his holdall and located fresh underwear, t shirt and his toiletries bag.  
Robin swapped over with Strike to dress in the squashed cabin whilst he attempted to wash and shave in the bathroom.   
By the time he was minty fresh, Robin was clad in a pair of grey shorts and an orange striped t shirt. She took her brush and a bobble into the bathroom to sort out her hair, leaving Cormoran to wriggle about on the narrow bunk in order to remove then put on clean pants and a sock, strip off his white t shirt and replace it with a clean grey marl one, squirt on some deodorant and wrestle on his jeans, lone Converse and leg with all it’s footwear still attached.

He emerged, looking a little ruffled and panting.  
“Bloody hell……I think it would have been less stressful to go out and buy croissants naked!”   
Robin flashed him a wide-eyed pout, “Less stressful but potentially far more distressing for everyone else! Come on, let’s get out of here and find food.”  
“No sign of life from them two?” Strike flicked his neck towards the double cabin.  
Robin shook her head.  
Strike smirked knowingly.  
“What’s that look for?” Robin asked as she unlocked the small hatch and climbed up the narrow steps onto the main deck.  
Strike followed, sighing blissfully as he was finally able to stand upright.   
His back made several odd noises, reminiscent of a puppy rolling on bubble wrap, and he lit up a cigarette with alarming speed and efficiency.  
“It’s a sort of anniversary for them,” he explained as Robin leapt onto the canal side.   
She looked perplexed and Strike could see her mentally trawling through important dates linked to Nick and Ilsa.

They walked back in the direction of the pubs from the previous evening to locate somewhere to buy pastries or croissants and spotted a well known coffee shop with exterior tables. They ordered coffees and pain au chocolates for themselves, together with a cheese toastie that Strike insisted on and decided they’d get more coffees and croissants to take back to the cabin for Nick and Ilsa on their way back.  
Strike dragged a couple of chairs up to one of the outside tables as Robin fetched the tray.

“So come on, Columbo, what’s the special anniversary for?” she asked as she put the empty tray down on the floor, noticing the gleeful look on Strike’s face at the sight of the hot, melted cheese.  
He took a moment to gather himself before replying, “Quite sweet really…….first time Nick kissed her,” he explained.  
Robin’s face crumpled into a blissful expression at the concept, as she watched the huge man across from her ram a massive piece of cheese toastie into his mouth before panting and wafting at his face at the nuclear temperature of the cheese.  
“Who says romance is dead!” he grinned, a stray piece of stringy cheese stuck to his beard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a queue to lick up that stray bit of cheese....I am at the front....I may take my time!


	8. Look at him!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of Robin and Cormoran realising their feelings, but not sharing them with each other....yet!  
> Bit of a homage to Abby in ER and her description to Neela of her and Ray! *sigh  
> Cormoran resting his hand on the control of a barge shouldn't be sexy; nor should him lobbing a fag end into the canal.....but I think he pulls it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recently finished reading a great book called The Long Fatal Love Chase and there is a character called Father Ignacious in it whom I fear may be very much Cormoran like!
> 
> Oh, and the squawk is just for you Lula!

They drank, ate and in Strike’s case, smoked, enjoying their usual pastime of ‘people watching’ and listening in on snippets of conversations in order to create the most outlandish scenario leading up to that point possible.  
It was a method of amusing themselves which they had perfected after countless hours on stake outs and carrying out paired surveillance.  
Yet again, Robin couldn’t stop herself thinking how comfortable and relaxed it was to be in Cormoran’s company…..and the fact that the morning sunshine was glinting off his watch and aviator shades as he drained his coffee wasn’t lost on her either.

“Come on then, let’s get back and see if that pair have emerged…..no doubt they’ll have worked up an appetite!” he glowered over the top of his sunglasses as he gathered his fags, lighter and phone and eased himself up from the table.  
“We said we were getting coffees and croissants to go!” she reminded him and turned to go back into the coffee shop.  
“Cool. I’ll get a paper and meet you by the steps,” and he strolled across the road, raising his hand to thank a car which slowed to ensure he could cross. 

Strike was languidly leaning against the stair rail, his nose wrinkled into the sun as Robin wandered over to him carrying a cardboard drinks carrier with 4 lidded cups and a couple of paper bags filled with goodies.  
She looked carefree and happy he thought.   
He wondered, sentimentally, whether any of her mood was due to him, but quickly brushed away the thought as wishful thinking.

Nick and Ilsa were sat on the front barge deck as they wandered up.   
Robin noticed Ilsa glancing quickly to take in their body language, but noting nothing unusual simply grinned and grabbed the drinks carrier as the four of them made ready to cast off and start venturing back to where they had begun their journey.

Strike took control of the vessel allowing Nick and Ilsa time to enjoy their breakfasts.   
Robin clambered out to join him and couldn’t prevent the small sigh as she saw his strong hand on the controls and the focussed but relaxed expression on his face.  
He had a lit cigarette in his other hand.

“I quite like this as a means of travelling around,” he proffered, “Want a go?” he indicated the control lever.  
Robin glanced at it, then his smirking face, “Is it alright? Am I allowed?”  
Strike shrugged, “They let me have a go and I am down on the booking as officially disabled…..they made me wear that,” he indicated the huge, orange life vest which had been hung on a hook since he’d wrestled himself free of it.  
Robin covered her mouth and bit her cheeks at his expression.  
“Don’t you laugh!....... Bloody discrimination!” he mumbled petulantly.  
Robin’s shoulders shook slightly, but she cleared her throat and moved closer to him at the controls.  
“Show me then,” she grinned, waiting for him to move his hand from the small lever so that she could replace it with her own.

Cormoran inhaled deeply as Robin stepped back against him and shifted his hand fractionally allowing Robin’s to slip beneath.  
He glanced down at her focussed expression as she scanned to the front of the barge, her mouth forming her ‘I’m concentrating, don’t distract me’ shape.  
God she was beautiful.  
And she was standing incredibly close…..or was it him that was standing incredibly close to her?

“Right….I’ll leave you to it shall I?” he remarked, moving out from behind her a little.  
Robin flashed him a plaintive glance, “You can’t leave me in charge!.......What if there’s a tricky bit?” she shrieked.  
Strike glanced along the barge and ahead.  
The canal was ruler straight and empty of other boats.  
Robin met his questioning, mirth filled gaze with one of her own.  
“Well alright then…..it doesn’t look like a high pressure incident is likely to arise in the next…..15 to 20 minutes!” she admitted. “But I’d still rather you hung around….if that’s OK….keep me company.”

Cormoran dipped his head and felt a warm flush in his cheeks.   
He said nothing in response, but thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and leaned back against the cabin, resting his right foot on the raised side of the vessel.   
Robin allowed herself to glance across at him as he seemed to consider a topic of discussion….but having considered, he realised that an easy and comfortable silence between them was perfectly OK. So he sniffed, looked up and smiled at her whilst a million different emotions swirled around in his head, chief of which being why he had steadfastly and resolutely decided that he would not tell her how much he adored her.

He’d started off, many months earlier by steadfastly and resolutely deciding that he would not start to fancy her; then he would definitely not start to fantasise about her; then…..when both of those had become failed efforts he’d simply tried to adhere to not telling her. 

Why?

Because as he frequently told Ilsa, Nick, and on one occasion a very drunk Shanker, Robin was such a perfect part of his life where she was; how could he risk shifting that position, changing their dynamic and ruining it all.  
No……horny, desperate but Ignacious like he would be.

Their quiet companionship was interrupted by Nick’s appearance, informing them that they would stop in about 45 minutes at a different mooring point to the previous day, where they proposed a picnic which Ilsa was already preparing.  
Robin went off to assist.

Nick took back control of the barge.  
“Can I ask a bit of a favour, mate?” he winced at Cormoran who had lit up another cigarette and nodded in agreement to the request in principle.  
“Any chance you could bugger off with Robin for your picnic and leave us to ours? I’ve got a present for Ilsa and I kind of assumed you’d fuck off to a pub on your own…..I wasn’t banking on Robin being here too; and much as I like you both…..”  
Strike raised his hand to stop his friend, puffing clouds of smoke from his mouth, “I get it! No problem….she already knows it’s one of your sappy anniversaries….you old romantic!” he grinned; but secretly he admired what Nick and Ilsa had – no ridiculous fireworks; no heated battles, just love.   
He was beginning to realise more and more that it was exactly what he wanted too.

Robin and Ilsa worked in the tight space to make sandwiches, cut small pies and sausage rolls even smaller – both giggling over the fact that Cormoran would no doubt complain that it was a ruse to make him eat less!  
They packed the food into a couple of bags; no fancy picnic baskets, just paper carrier bags so they could chuck the rubbish away.  
Ilsa flashed several sideways glances towards Robin before Robin finally caved and asked, “Ilsa? What is it?”  
“Well….you…..Nick noticed you didn’t seem to be in your bed this morning….so…..I was wondering….?” And she bit her lip and flicked her head in the direction of the enormous man who was still looking ridiculously sexy resting his foot against the raised side of the barge whilst chatting to Nick.  
Robin blushed and smiled, “I slept on the top bunk!.....had a bit of a wobble….barge….Chiswell,” she explained.  
Ilsa, nodded and relaxed her jawline, it made sense; and much as she wanted her friends to get together, even she could see that the explanation made more sense based on their temperaments and what Corm had repeatedly told her about his feelings for Robin.

“……but…….Oh God, Ilsa! Look at him!” she puffed out her cheeks as Ilsa regarded the unmistakably masculine image of her old friend casually discarding his lit fag end into the canal, raking one hand through his unruly curls and resting his buttocks against the control console.  
“Well, yeah….but I’ve been looking at that a long time Robin….what do you mean exactly?” Ilsa fished…..waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I mean do you mean….?”  
Robin’s throaty growl filled in the blanks and Ilsa supressed a ridiculous squawk.

“I realised this morning, when I was sitting on his bed, drinking tea, that I was going on a singles weekend to find someone and I’ve already found what I want….and he’s right there! Do you reckon we could make a go of it?” Robin asked.  
Ilsa put down the small knife she had been using to slice cheese and regarded Robin honestly, “Robin, I have no idea if it will work or not; just like I had no idea if me and Nick would last…..and believe me there are some days when it’s still touch and go!.....but God…..if this isn’t right, I don’t know what is!” and she embraced her slightly tearful friend.

Robin sniffed and eased herself back from Ilsa.   
Her words made a lot of sense……if she went through life trying to plan for every bad thing that could happen to her she’d go nowhere……she’d still be in her bedroom in Masham!

“You do realise though that he’s useless……and he’ll never ask you!” Ilsa added, giggling as Robin’s face twisted in frustration.  
“So what do I do?” Robin asked, brushing the moisture from her face with the back of her hand.  
Ilsa picked up the knife again and resumed cheese cubing duties, “He won’t lie to you…..so just talk him into admitting it so he has no other choice…..simple!”


	9. You ARE my salt and vinegar Kettle Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picnic in a wheat field.  
> Cormoran can't lie to Robin  
> We all know how Robin feels about crisps.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in updating - this thing ran away with me and ended up taking a bit of time to get to where I wanted it.  
> HOWEVER, I shall be posting a second chapter later as I managed to finish it!

They moored up the barge and Strike tied off the ropes, lifting one of the bags of food from Robin as she brought it plus a rolled up picnic blanket from the cabin.  
“Come on, they’ll catch up,” he stated quite forcefully as he propelled Robin towards the closed lock gates and a particularly picturesque wheat field with waving, knee high strands of wheat scattered with flashes of red field poppies and fluttering pale blue and white butterflies.  
Robin walked quickly to keep up with his long strides, glancing over her shoulder and noticing that Nick and Ilsa didn’t seem to be hurrying…..maybe Ilsa had said something to Nick?

“Go on then, after you!” he said, indicating the narrow lock gates which acted as a way of crossing to the opposite bank of the canal.   
She made her way across and reached back to offer to take the bag from Strike, but he crossed nimbly too.  
“Not bad for an old guy with a dodgy leg!” he grinned.  
Robin laughed, “Hey, you should be more suited to boats and the open seas…..the whole half a leg thing! Bung a parrot on your shoulder….your middle name is Blue….and you’ve got the beard!” she shouted back as she marched on into the wheat, aiming for a small tree about 100 metres back from the pathway.

Cormoran laughed and shook his head as he followed, “Are you saying you can see me as a pirate?” he retorted, amused at how her brain worked and pointed out things that others frequently shied away from; especially connected to his leg.  
“No! I’m saying that pirates were well known for their frequent lack of complete limbs, but it never stopped them on a boat….I was thinking about it when you said that guy told you that you had to wear a life jacket! Here?” she stopped quite abruptly, meaning he banged into her slightly as he focussed on the shadowy ground beneath the small, but rather beautifully gnarled tree.  
“Erm, yeah, here’s fine,” he agreed and placed down the bag, looking at her with a mixture of alarm and amusement as she lay down and rolled like a pencil to flatten down a roughly rectangular space of the wheat before shaking out and laying down the blanket.   
He flashed her an impressed and somewhat wolfish grin.  
“Ellacott! That speaks volumes about hidden teenage trysts in the fields around Masham!” and he used the tree trunk to lower himself to the ground as Robin thoughtfully (of course!) busied herself removing her lace up pumps.  
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” she giggled, flashing him a suddenly highly arousing glance before flopping down on her belly facing him, so that her head fell in line almost with his left knee.  
He inhaled deeply, “Hmmmmm? I think it might be safer to remain one of those mysteries ….like Pandora’s Box…..better not to look inside! Right! What did you pack to eat, I’m ravenous!”   
“Of course you are!” she quipped as he began rummaging in the bag and ‘testing’ one out of every package before allowing Robin to share.

As predicted he moaned at why they had gone to the trouble of cutting an individual sized pork pie in half….stating that it actually made him feel greedier because he had to take 2 pieces instead of 1.   
He tossed the salt and vinegar crisps across to her without asking, opening a pack of salted ones from himself as he knew she adored the dark blue rather than the white packets.

She ripped into the bag and crunched before regarding him purposefully, “Why did you do that?”  
He looked puzzled, not sure what she was referring to, then saw her flick her eyes between her bag of crisps and his own beside him.  
“I know you prefer that flavour,” he stated honestly.  
“I know, but…..you like them too. Why didn’t you ask which I wanted first? Why did you just give me these ones?” she continued, licking the harsh flavour from her lips.

Strike mentally considered whether this was some Charlotte type scene in the making….but this was Robin, not Charlotte! “I didn’t ask you which you wanted, because I know you would always choose the salt and vinegar…always; and I like both…..and I……,” his breath hitched slightly, “….and I knew it would make you happy,” he added, flashing her a gorgeously soft, sweet, green eyed gaze from beneath a few disorganised dark curls.  
“Oh,” she replied softly and allowed herself to gaze at him for a beat or two longer as he wrestled with a chilled bottle of water and smiled with delight upon discovering the 2 bottles of cold beer and the package of caramel shortbread at the bottom of the bag.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his boyish grin as he cracked open one of the bottles and offered it to her before opening the second and draining half in one gulp.

They ate, contentedly; neither mentioned the non-appearance of the Herberts and when she was full (long before Strike was) Robin rolled onto her back and stared up through the branches of the tree.  
The sun covered her skin in a mosaic of golden light.   
She looked ethereal and the word Kairos crossed his mind as she tilted her head slightly towards him and smiled softly.

“The crisps did make me happy,” she said, raising one of her hands to absently toy with the strands of her hair splayed out on the tartan blanket.   
“Crisps frequently make you happy!” he smirked, resting his head back against the tree truck, enjoying the nobbled sensation on his scalp, thinking back to the multiple times he’d bought them for her in the Tottenham.   
Every pack seemed to elicit real joy in her!

“Can I ask you a question?” Robin continued as Strike reached across and ripped one of the stalks of wheat within his reach and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger.  
“Always,” he replied.  
“What makes you as happy as crisps makes me?” she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately, as she knew he wouldn’t. Ilsa was correct about one thing, he didn’t lie….although he sometimes masked rather than stated the complete truth.   
The stalk of wheat in his fingers twizzled and twirled as he struggled with a response which reflected the truth but didn’t overtly state that his happiness was pretty much solely based around her.

He kept his gaze focussed on a spot somewhere in the wheat field.   
Robin employed a tactic she’d learned from him – stay silent long enough and they’ll crack!

“Honestly?.....you. You make me happy Robin. In loads of stupid little ways. The fact that you put all the lids back on my pens and put them in that empty noodle pot on my desk; the way you steadfastly water and talk to that ridiculous pot plant in the office even though the damn thing has never flowered; the way your eyes light up when we get a good lead on a case, or when I bring in chocolate bars….which you should know that I do because I love that smile you give me. So, you, Robin…..you make me as happy as crisps make you. You Robin ARE my salt and vinegar Kettle Chips!” and he discarded the stalk of wheat before screwing up his nose, his eyes glancing down at the tartan rug rather than meet the two pools of adoring bluey-grey staring at him.

She managed to control her voice and twisted slightly, staring through the leaves to the slivers of blue sky, “So, how come I can’t say no to crisps, but you seem to be able to resist……me?” she almost whispered the final word, as it was too precious to say out loud.

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she both heard and felt the hotness of his breath as he exhaled deeply.

“Oh God……because…….you know what it’s like once you open that bag! You get that mouth watering smell, and even though you swear you’ll only have one or two…..before you know it you’ve had the lot. If I gave into resisting you Robin….I’d probably need to have to have sex with you…..and….if I did that, I think I’d definitely fall in love with you……and then that would be all manner of difficult if you didn’t feel the same way about me,” he was still staring off into the gently swaying wheat field rather than direct his eyes towards Robin.   
Her face had tilted towards him as his carefully considered, but clearly heart felt outburst had been voiced.

Why the fuck had he said that?   
Why hadn’t he made something up?   
He did it every day as part of work….why the hell couldn’t he have said something else…ANYTHING else other than the truth?!

Robin had remained staring at the facets of lapis blue sky above her head, almost afraid to move incase she woke herself from the dream she was clearly involved in.  
Cormoran had basically just told her that he fancied her….a lot….and was holding back because he was scared she didn’t feel the same way.

“You should know, Cormoran,” the way she said his name sent waves of liquid passion through his veins, especially having just made it about as clear as can be that he liked her in way more than a friendly work relationship way, “I think there are things that make me happier than crisps….. people…..that make me happier,” and she finally dared to twist her neck and gaze across at his profile.

From the corner of his eye he noticed her movement but dared not meet her gaze…..Christ, he’d fought in Helmand, why the fuck did the thought of looking at this woman who he knew so well fill him with terror?

He’d done exactly what Ilsa said he’d do – he’d told her the truth, but now he was done….she’d have to make the next move.  
“Come on. Let’s get back and see if we can catch those two still at it,” and she pushed herself up to her feet, grabbing the handles of the paper bag containing mostly rubbish.  
“Don’t throw that away!” Strike became suddenly animated, “It’s still got cakes in it,” he added in a childishly sweet manner as he finally met her soft grey eyes.   
They simply shared a smile for a second….a fraction longer than a standard smile between friends, but he had just professed himself to feeling way more for her than friendship.  
“Don’t worry…..I won’t throw it away,” she replied, wondering whether he would understand her double meaning.

 

Back at the barge Nick and Ilsa had enjoyed a couple of hours of privacy but where now eagerly awaiting the arrival of their friends – Ilsa had of course confided in her husband that Robin had admitted her feelings.   
They watched for giveaway signals as the pair made their way back across the lock gate and along the canal path.  
Strike had dumped most of the rubbish in a bin along the way and was now demolishing the remnants of the package of caramel shortcake bars (Strike 3 – Robin 1!)

“We good to go?” Nick asked meeting his calm expression. His chin was chewing around like a contented cow in a fresh field of grass as he nodded and unfastened the rope.  
Robin climbed straight onto the barge, met Ilsa’s inquisitive glare and followed her through the cabin and out to the front deck area.

As soon as they were safely away Strike’s body language and expression changed immediately.  
“Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do, Nick!” he exploded in a hiss. “I think I’ve just basically told Robin that I’m in love with her…..and I’ve just chain eaten 3 millionaire shortbreads….and I feel sick!”  
Nick regarded his mate’s shaking head and slumped shoulders. “Are the two feelings linked?” he semi-joked.  
Strike rolled his eyes slightly, but not through frustration, more out of resignation. “In a manner of speaking, yeah…..I didn’t know what else to say; so I ate!”  
“Well, you usually smoke, so I suppose it’s an improvement!” Nick retorted with a grin which his friend couldn’t help but return. “Give her a bit of time to let it sink in, mate. Has she said anything at all or did she just get up and leave?”  
“In between…..I compared her to a bag of crisps……it sort of made sense at the time,” he hastily added as he met Nick’s almost horrified expression. “And, she didn’t leap up and run away…..she smiled at me……I don’t know!”  
Nick nodded, sagely, “Ball’s in her court now, mate. Just wait and see,” and the pair returned to a comfortable silence, both lost in thoughts about the women they loved.

 

At the front of the barge Robin was blushing furiously as Ilsa’s gaze scrutinised her for any clues.  
“So?” she eventually whispered.  
“I did what you said….I sort of asked him in a way that he couldn’t really avoid answering,” and she bit her lip nervously.  
“AND?” Ilsa hissed.  
Robin merely allowed the corners of her mouth to curl upwards, resulting in a high pitched, tight lipped squeal to emanate from her friend.  
“So? Did you snog him?”  
“No…..I…..we…didn’t really do anything. We came back and ate caramel shortcakes on the way…..now I don’t know what to do,” Robin shrugged.

Ilsa glanced back towards her husband at the rear of the barge and noted their calm expressions. “He’s done his bit really……time for you to act babe!”  
Robin nodded slowly, “I know…..but I’ve got to get off this barge in half an hour….and we can’t stop, so he can’t get off with me, he’d knacker his leg!”  
Ilsa winced, “Oh God, yeah…..your car’s there. Shit we’ve got to do what we did in reverse, and yeah, Corm can’t jump off with you, he’ll have to stay on with us.”  
Robin was looking thoughtful.  
“I need to pack up my stuff,” she mumbled and left the small deck in order to locate all of her strewn belongings, some of which were in the tiny bathroom, others in the main cabin and a few still intermingled with the bedding and holdall on the bunk beds.

The sight of the ridiculously narrow bed made her smile warmly.   
She’d felt so comfortable curled up on it sitting where Cormoran’s leg should be…..and apparently all the time she had been there he’d been feeling…..well, his feelings for her…..and keeping it all under control, and all to himself.  
But not anymore.   
And there were somethings that couldn’t be unsaid.

 

Nick’s voice broke through her thoughts.  
“Robin! You ready, that guy in the hi-vis is prowling, you’re going to have to jump off and we’ll pass you your case.”  
She handed her case to Ilsa and told her to take it to the back of the barge whilst she went out onto the front deck.  
Cormoran looked down the narrow passage, Ilsa was barring his only means of reaching Robin as she moved towards him with the small case.  
“She’s going to jump off and by the time we catch up we can hand it to her,”Ilsa explained.  
Cormoran smiled weakly.   
What did it say about his romantic outburst when the woman he’d just outbursted it to was now preparing to jump off a moving barge rather than talk to him about it?!

Nick angled the barge as close to the bank as he dared as they approached the same wrought iron bridge that on the previous day had hailed the sun coming out.  
Robin glanced back at her 3 friends before flashing a smile from behind her sunglasses directly into the pair of soulful green eyes and then leapt onto the canalside.  
Strike, not for the first time, wished that his leg didn’t hinder him.   
He wished he could leap off the barge after her.

She had landed deftly and athletically on the grass verge and glibly poked out her thumb like a hitch hiker as she waited for the rear of the barge to catch up.   
Ilsa passed the small suitcase to Strike who turned it so that he was holding out the handle end towards Robin’s extended arm.  
“Can you reach it?” Nick asked as he kept his eye firmly on the hi-vis man who had a clip board and appeared to be about to start recording on his mobile phone.  
Robin grasped the handle and grunted slightly as she took the full weight.

“See you Monday then?” he stated as the barge travelled under the small bridge which on this occasion Robin had not needed to cross having been deposited on the correct side for the trusty Land Rover.  
She maintained her eyes on the barge and the waving Herberts, but it was the figure of Strike which she focussed upon. He was engaged in lighting a cigarette, his neck dipped slightly, hands cupped to his bristled jawline.  
She saw a puff of smoke as it ignited; Ilsa dived back into the cabin; Nick returned to focus on straightening the vessel after veering towards the bank to allow her to alight.  
“Look back,” she whispered to the sky, “Please.”  
On the back deck, Cormoran drew deeply on his cigarette, exhaling a fug of smoke around himself and Nick.   
He should at least wave…..so he twisted his neck fractionally and raised the hand containing his cigarette towards her.   
The fact that she was still looking, and that he was convinced he saw a tiny smile at her lips gave him a glimmer of hope.   
Maybe things could be OK between them.   
Maybe his lack of control and rein on his emotions in the field could be forgotten; blamed on the sun; or lack of sleep……maybe.

 

From her position on the canal path, Robin’s lips had indeed curled into a smile……a wonderful, hopeful smile…..and we all know that a little hope is a wonderful thing.  
As soon as he turned his head fully back she scampered up the narrow ladder, her case thumping against the steps as she dragged it up behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter to be posted in a short while.....a stonking kiss was requested....and I am happy to oblige!


	10. A STONKING kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter.  
> There was a request for a 'stonking' kiss.....so that is what I have gone for.

Driving away Robin thought long and hard about everything that had happened in the space of a little more than 30 hours.  
She'd had a text from her friend Tara informing her that the Single's Weekend had been duller than death, and she'd spent the whole time chatting with Duncan instead!  
Whereas Robin had enjoyed herself for the whole time she'd been on the barge....no, actually, from the moment she'd decided to get on the barge! - and she'd been with the one man who seemed to be everything she was looking for.

"Right! Come on Robin…..time to jump in!" she exclaimed to her reflection in the driving mirror and slid the car into third gear so that she could swing it around at the upcoming lights and follow the canal to where she knew Ilsa and Nick had hired it from. 

Traffic was not particularly heavy, but she did get caught at a couple of tricky lights.  
At one of them her phone buzzed and she saw it was a message from Cormoran.  
The content made her smile, sob and squeal all in one instant.

On the barge, Cormoran was mentally unpicking the events of the past day and a half.   
The sun had come out when Robin was with them on the barge.....now that she'd gone the clouds had descended again, and although there was a lightness in his heart based on their conversation in the cornfield he couldn't help but consider whether he'd missed something more for fear of making the leap.

His thoughts went back to Robin's bronze coloured hair flying around her shoulders as she'd leapt across to the canal side.  
She was the one who'd sort of broached the subject of feelings on their picnic too.....and although he'd answered with what he considered at the time to be honest affection he now wondered whether the moment might have passed.

Ilsa gave him a sturdy poke on the shoulder to gain his attention from where he was wistfully staring back at the small, cast iron bridge.  
"Have I?......." he trailed off, wrinkling his nose and mouth, "I mean....should I?......."

Ilsa sighed, mainly because dealing with her ridiculous love struck friends was beginning to be exhausting, and also because she saw a look of real fear behind her old friend's eyes.  
"Listen, you know that old story don't you about the man who's waiting for God's help in the flood?" Cormoran's eyes met hers with a slightly unfamiliar grimace. She continued, "You'll have heard it! He's waiting on the roof of his house, the flood waters are rising and rising and along comes a man in a boat, then a man on a raft, then a rescue crew in a helicopter and at each thing he tells them to go away because he's waiting for God's intervention to help him.....well when the waters rise and he's killed and he gets to heaven he asks his God, "Why didn't you answer my prayers?" and God answers, "I sent a guy in a boat, and another on a raft and then even a helicopter....what more could I do?!"

Cormoran dipped his neck and pursed his lips as he thought about the analogy.  
Ilsa gently continued, "Corm, she's giving you as many signals as she can......don't be too proud to take one, 'cos you know exactly which direction the signals lead you.....it's straight to her isn't it mate?"  
"Straight by way of a few very twisting, turning roads, but yeah," he stated.

He looked at his phone and Ilsa left him fairly sure he was going to ring, or at least message Robin based on the firmly determined look on his face.  
Assuming she’d be driving by now he tapped out a text :  
‘Robin, I don’t regret anything I said. I do regret letting you jump off this barge. C x’

 

Thirty minutes later the barge was nearing the mooring point where they had first boarded the vessel.  
Ilsa sidled up to Strike cautiously.  
“You know you have to put that life jacket thing back on for when we pull up,” she winced at his expression of frustrated resignation.  
“I know! I will, I’m gonna go get my shit together and join Nick,” he ruffled her fringe and gave her a quick, one armed hug as he crouched himself inside the cabin to shove everything back into his holdall. 

The faint aroma of Robin’s perfume lingered on the pillowcase near to his shoulders and he resisted the temptation to bury his face into it as he tugged the zip closed more aggressively than was strictly necessary.  
He left the bag in the main cabin and growled as he grabbed the hated orange jacket and thrust his arms into it, refusing to fasten “the fucking ugly, useless bastard thing.”  
The white haired man from the previous day had been replaced by a younger male who Strike noted was wearing a similar life jacket to his own and upon closer inspection was missing the lower part of his left arm.  
As Nick rather expertly eased the barge up to the mooring spot and turned off the engine the man, who introduced himself as Barney, glanced across at Strike’s attire,  
“Aaaahhhh, someone else who’s too good to sink with the rest of ‘em I see!” and gave him a smiling, sympathetic nod; which from a fellow amputee somehow didn’t irk Strike. “Any problems?” he issued the question to Nick and the pair briefly made a few checks of the vessel, including a cursory glance at the exterior for damage etc.  
Ilsa had bundled their own things into bags and had cleared out the small kitchen and wiped a quick cloth around the loo whilst Cormoran had done the same for the bathroom.  
They were a good team…..there was just one person missing from it….and it hadn’t skipped Strike’s notice that the grey skies had returned since dropping Robin off at the bridge.

 

Robin pulled into the small car park, she spotted the tiny Smart car that Ilsa and Nick had bought a few months earlier and chose a spot for the Land Rover a few vacant spaces apart from it.  
She checked her appearance in the rear view mirror: nose slightly reddened and overly freckled, as were her cheeks and shoulders; her hair was a bit messy, she pulled her brush through it and removed it from the pony tail she’d dragged it up into earlier; she applied a bit of lipbalm and swallowed a large gulp of water to try and counteract how dry her mouth suddenly felt.

Was she really going to do this?  
Yes!   
She bloody was!

He’d all but told her he was crazy about her; and that text had spurred her on….and he’d looked back at her and waved.

 

Having dragged their stuff off the boat and handed back the keys the trio shared the task of carrying bags and boxes up the ramp towards the Herbert’s car before Strike could head off to the tube and his flat.  
A small, but high pitched squeak from Ilsa, who was leading the way, made both men look up.  
The sight of their amber haired friend leaning against the side of the old Land Rover brought a smile to all 3 pairs of lips, but the one on the largest man’s lips remained in place the longest as she began walking towards him.  
Nick glanced back at him with a wink as he bundled his almost ecstatic wife towards their vehicle.

Strike’s legs, almost numbly, moved him in the direction of Robin. She was walking slowly towards him, but her eyes hadn’t left his face, and neither had the sweetly seductive smile on her lips.  
He placed his holdall and the bag belonging to Ilsa down as she came almost within reach.   
They were close to the centre of the small car park.

Cormoran became aware of his lips moving, “Why are you here?”   
Robin stepped one pace closer, her eyes level with his slightly off-centred and completely perfect lips.  
“I feel the same way,” she murmured, gazing up into the pools of swirling green that were staring back at her. “About all of it…..about you…..about us. And……I’m going to kiss you….so……if you don’t want me to, you’re just gonna have to run away, OK?”

She felt the hitch to his breathing; as a warm tingle across her neck and moved her body even closer so that her arm naturally rested on the broadness of his chest as she parted her lips, flicking her storm cloud eyes between his own and his slightly trembling mouth.  
“I have no intention of running….even if I could,” he whispered before softening his neck slightly and covering her soft lips with his own. 

For an instant everything stood still: Ilsa froze with her hand on the Smart car passenger door; Nick was statue-like, midway between transferring a holdall into the tiny boot; and Robin and Strike’s lips, although joined remained chastely pressed together, unmoving, but unwilling to separate.  
The sun found it’s way out from behind the clouds and then it was Strike’s hand sliding instinctively around Robin’s waist that acted like the reboot switch, and feeling Robin’s body mould itself to his and her other hand locate the nape of his neck he parted his lips over hers, welcoming the warm teasing flick of her tongue against his and delving his own into the perfect heaven of her mouth.

He felt his other hand splay through her hair, her beautiful, silken, amber hair and groaned along with her as they stood clasped together, kissing as if they could never be torn apart, as if they had practised a lifetime for this very moment.  
Robin had never experienced a kiss like it.   
The heat from his huge body, his masculine scent of spice, tobacco and the slight flavour of caramel lingering in his mouth was powerfully sensual. His hands felt so strong and reassuringly safe as they held her close to him, stroked along her and explored her body.

Strike was breathless.   
The sensation of Robin’s firm body pressed against him, his fingers kneading into each curve; each thrilling new sensation as she moved her hands across his chest, back and scalp; the flavour of her eager mouth; their hot, panting breath becoming lower and lower in oxygen content as they inhaled each other.   
To use the word overwhelming seemed too poor an adjective.

Nick made a slight clicking sound in his cheek at the sight of his friends finally unravelling and giving into their feelings. He knew it could only be a good thing…..for them both.  
Ilsa stood staring, living the kiss along with them and feeling nothing but warmth for the fact that they had finally broken down the flood gates.   
They both waited, Nick seeking a pause in order to risk going over and collecting the bag which was beside Oggy’s leg, and Ilsa so that she could throw them a cheery wave and a squeal of delight.

They waited.

The wait was now becoming slightly uncomfortable and they still hadn’t parted for air. 

Strike’s arms had firmly wrapped around Robin and hoisted her off her feet, and she had wrapped her legs around his waist. One of his hands easily supported her buttocks whilst the other stroked and positioned her neck in order for him to weld his lips across her delirious mouth and twisting jaw.

Nick raised his eyebrows at Ilsa and scratched his ear as she returned his half amused, half quizzical expression.  
He was just about to sneak across and retrieve the bag when they saw Robin move her hands away from where they had been scouring Cormoran’s back and hair and press him back by his chest, finally breaking the spell.

Strike looked at her panting, dishevelled face which was slightly higher than his own due to their position.   
Her usual rose pink lips were deep crimson, and the skin around them tinged pink from his beard.  
“Can you give me a lift to my flat?” he asked cheekily, his eyes twinkling in the sunshine.  
She giggled back at him as he slightly shifted her position in his arms, her ankles remaining firmly crossed around his lower back but she shook her head at him, “No!”  
He raised his eyebrows fractionally but a growl reverberated through his chest as her mouth found his ear and the small section of non-bristled skin behind it, “You’re coming home with me!” she whispered before sucking down on the skin and making it perfectly clear to the crotch of Robin’s shorts how excited he was by that prospect.

She flicked her head in the direction of the Land Rover and continued to press kisses along his jaw and neck as he walked them across in it’s direction.  
Nick spied his opportunity and made a grab for their own bag, and he dropped Strike’s at the back of the Land Rover before shouting a quick, “Drop us a line to let us know you’re alive at some point won’t you!” and clapped Oggy between the shoulder blades before encouraging his wife into their car.

Robin and Strike where nowhere near close to getting inside the old vehicle as they swung out of the car park; but nor did they seem concerned.   
They had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no smut I'm afraid.....feels a bit odd! I am sure normal service will be resumed in whatever comes next!  
> As always thank you for reading, commenting and kudosing.


End file.
